


Mort Vivante

by Thegreatcactus



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Death, Depression, Drug Abuse, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, M/M, Murder, Pain, Self-Harm, Suicide, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:19:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5926561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thegreatcactus/pseuds/Thegreatcactus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Hannibal are happily married and working for the FBI. At a weekend trip, Hannibal is shot to death by the murder the FBI is searching for, and Will has to find ways of coping with his loss. As time passes, he gets more and more depressed, sinking in his pain, desperate to find a way of having Hannibal back in his life. That's when he start using drugs, that provide him the solid hallucination that Hannibal is there with him. As his drug addiction and his depression gets worse, Will begins to lose track of the borderline between reality and madness. </p><p>Official Tumblr: https://mortvivante.tumblr.com</p><p>Watch the AU video for the story: https://youtu.be/U8c1JTcMDxE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Visiting Old Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first fanfic I'm posting here and I would like to say I'm not a native english speaker, so in case something I wrote is unclear or could have been written in a better way, please, let me know, it'll always help me improve my stories and my english.  
> This story came to me as an idea for an AU video I did: https://youtu.be/U8c1JTcMDxE
> 
> Also, I like to listen to music while writing so I'll probably be posting a small playlist in the beginning's notes so you can hear it while reading each chapter. 
> 
> This chapter's songs are:  
> Vespers - Patrick Cassidy and Lisa Gerrard  
> The Funeral - Zbigniew Preisner 
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! :)

"These violent delights have violent ends;

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

Which, as they kiss, consume." - Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 6

* * *

 It was the first time Will went to that house after what happened. He still wasn't sure of his motives to go there, if moved by simple masochism or the deep disquietude found in the emptiness of his small house in Wolf Trap, Virginia, the void that came along with the sense of absent.

  
He wasn't going to fill the blank of his absence by going on his house, he knew that. He wasn't there.

  
Yet, there he was, parking in front of the yellow brick house, in the early hours of the morning. He had the keys now, a gesture that couldn't serve as comfort. All doors to his past were free and open to Will now, he had all the keys he might need. But without a guider, without the past's owner, the visit wasn't worth.

  
Opening the front door calmly, he entered, walking slowly, sensing his feet on the wooden floor, aware of all the details he had never been aware before: the sound of the wood beneath his shoes, the tone of the green in the corridor, the way the morning light set an angelical tone to the dinning table and the fireplace. The furniture wasn't covered for some reason. He wondered why. Everything was right in its place, immaculate, the house breathing an air that was no longer necessary. His feet wandered to the kitchen, where he had been many, countless times before. In the back of his mind he could hear a knife hitting the wood of the cutting board, cutting the meat with symmetrical perfection, the butter melting in the frying pan, Bach or Mozart coming from the other room. In the back of his mind he could hear him saying "Hello, Will" with warm in his voice, offering a glass of wine that was already there waiting for Will, and he would head closer to the countertop, bent his body closer to touch those sweet lips, only to hear him say Will's hair would fall on the food, which was an unforgivable sin, and said that he would bent and kiss Will on the lips again only to make sure the younger man knew he was more important than the food's preparation.

  
All of this was in the back of his mind, while in front of him, his eyes saw the reality of the empty place. There was no classical music coming from the other room, no butter melting in the frying pan, no meat being prepared, no glass of wine waiting for his arrival. Mostly important, if Will leaned over the countertop, there was no lips to kiss.

He was alone.

His hands opened the refrigerator, and he stood there wondering why it hurt that much to see it was empty.  
No food, no wine, not even a bottle of water. A long minute passed while he stared at the empty refrigerator. He stared still, like if food would just pop there, magically refilling the empty. Will remembered what Nietzsche said, that if you stare into the abyss, the abyss will stares back at you. In that moment, the abyss was his own emptiness, staring at him from the inside of the empty refrigerator, like a mirroring lake. Shutting the door robotically after a moment, he felt his back heavy, and with it against the refrigerator's door, he left himself slowly come to the ground. It was to expect he would have tears in his eyes by now, but Will guessed he had no more tears to shed. He was dry and empty, like the refrigerator, the kitchen and the house.

Emptiness was also there with him in the funeral, surrounding him like a heavy blanket. He kept away from the small crowd for the sake of his sanity. It wasn't the moment to start empathizing with the others people's pain, he had his own. And while he stood there in the back, looking at those people, he felt an urge to throw up. They all looked very false to him. The patients that were crying over the normal for "he had helped me so much, it's so awful he had to go like this", other people just quietly praying, as if he were such a religious person to begin with, some of the guests he had in dinner parties being there like they were true friends; even the FBI people seemed fake. Jimmy, Zeller and Beverly had no motive to be there; Alana was posing like she owned him so much beside Dr. Frederich Chilton that seemed to be smiling discretely for the death of someone he actually did not like, and Jack Crawford was wearing his guilty face, as if it were his fault.

  
In some way, it was. If he never had asked for Hannibal to evaluate Will's capacity to work on the field than he wouldn't be involved in the FBI's cases neither would have been shot to death by a murder that was too tired of agents putting their fingers in his business. But Will couldn't blame Jack for this, even wanting too, because if he had never asked for Hannibal to evaluate Will than the two would have never met and Will would have missed the best years of his life. He would never know the true meaning of being understood, accept and loved.  
All that was over now. Will was left there with a whole ten thousand times bigger than the one made by the bullet that killed Hannibal, and there was nothing to be done about that.

As the ceremony ended and he was finally left alone to mourn, he remember one conversation he and Hannibal had while in a trip to Florence, when they met in a museum after an argument that Will couldn't even remember what was about. Will was hurt by the fact that he knew he couldn't get away with it. He was dependent on the doctor. He loved him, with all his forces, and he couldn't live without him. The awareness of his dependency on the other man left him angry, but most of all, afraid.

  
While the snowflakes fell on his face and he stared at the flowers above Hannibal's grave, he remember turning to the doctor on that afternoon at the museum, giving him a wry smile and saying the words that now came to haunt him: "I'm curious whether either of us can survive separation."

  
Against his will, his curiosity now would be put to the test.

 

 


	2. Toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set five months before the first chapter, telling about a trip that Will and Hannibal did that got badly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm so so so sorry it took all this time to post this chapter, but a series of events including my internet failing to family problems got me stuck. Hope you can forgive me. Again, I can't find how I can change the font of the text to a better one like Georgia, if anyone knows, help is welcome! 
> 
> Songs:  
> Chasing Cars - Sleeping At Last  
> Transatlanticism - Death Cab For Cutie  
> Brand New - Tautou

_Five Months Early_

It was a sunny afternoon that day - almost too hot for the winter -, warm touches of sunlight in Will's cheeks while he waited for Hannibal outside the bureaus's office. It didn't took long for him to see Hannibal's car coming closer. Will smiled to himself, wondering if he would always feel his heart beat faster whenever Hannibal approached him, like a teenager. He knew the man for five years, and since than his heart would always beat fast when he was around.

  
"Going my way?" The doctor leaned with a smile closer to the open window. To Will, he was breathtakingly astonishing, like the most perfect painting ever painted in the world. The sun unlighted Hannibal's brown hair, making them yellowish, and Will desired to touch it, feel the softness within his fingers. He smiled back and entered the car. "I guess so."

  
"Did you pack?" Hannibal asked while leaning to give him a quick kiss in the lips.

  
Will threw his backpack in the backseat. "As asked."

  
The older man turned the car and closed the windows in order to turn the air-conditioning. Will stared at him, delighted with the man's beauty. "How was Denver?"

  
Hannibal nodded. "Acceptable. The seminaries were mostly good, the researches, teachers and professionals had really interesting arguments about one subject or another, but... The food in the reception was... It's a sin itself to call it 'food'." He rolled his eyes, remembering the awful taste of a simple meat pie. Will laughed, knowing how hard it was to please Hannibal when it come to cooking. God, he had missed him. Hannibal had been away only for a week in that psychiatry convention in Denver, but now it felt like ages had been passed since the last time they were together, not only a few days. "How is the bureau?"

  
Will sighed. "Nothing new. Oh, wait, one of the machines at the lab broke, so the analysis we were waiting for... We are still waiting."

  
"What about the murder?"

  
"Nothing." Will said while staring at the road passing by the window. "Mind telling me where are we going?" Hannibal had only told him to pack for a weekend off.

  
The doctor laughed, rubbing Will's hand with his free hand. "All good things to those who wait."

"Not fair."

  
"You'll enjoy, I promise."

  
Will was sure he would. As concerning Hannibal's surprises, they were all marvelous.

  
"Do you have any idea why he is so long without appearing?" The older man asked.

  
"It had been almost a month without a new victim. It's out of his pattern, which is odd, but Alana and I came with the possibility that he might be planning something. Our killer is revengeful."

  
Hannibal thought about the subject for a moment. "What can he be planning?"

  
"Something big, that will put him back in the media. He needs to prove that he is better than the others mundane killers that the tabloids are speaking about now, and mostly he has to shove in our faces our incapability of catching him."

  
"That's his weakness. In the moment he come to the police, we will be waiting for him." Hannibal said.

Will didn't miss the use of the "we", to include him in the FBI's team. Well, he was as part of the FBI now as much as Alana, consulting in every case, being Will's partner in almost every field and crime scene - apart from when he had a patient's appointment waiting in his office.  
Will agreed with a tired tone. "Since we can't know what he is planning, until he come to us there isn't much to be done."

  
"Enjoying your weekend is a very good start." Hannibal commented. "You seem tense."

  
Will stretched his back, relaxing his shoulders. "A bit. Nothing that a glass of a good wine and a massage from someone special won't solve."

  
Hannibal smiled to him, squeezing his hand. They tangled theirs fingers, being like that until the end of the trip.

  
Hannibal parked while Will pick the bags and looked around. He had no idea where in the map he was, but it was indeed beautiful. A big house in a cliff, the sea beneath them. He took a good look on the sea's waves hitting the rocks. If one fell from there, would be a tremendous tragedy. Yet, all he could see for miles ahead was the beauty of the sea and the purple color of the twilight sky.

  
Hannibal gently picked the bags from Will's hands while he was distracted with the breathtaking landscape and left it near the bedroom's door in the second floor.

  
Will kept gazing the sea, hearing the birds flying somewhere in the horizon, the cold wind hitting his arms with a sensation of quietude and peace. He suddenly was embraced by a pair of strong and warm arms. Hannibal rested his head in Will's shoulder, his lips closer to his ear.

"Did you like it?"

  
"It's... This place is wonderful." He was astonished.

  
"I knew you would like it. I wanted to bring you here last year, but we didn't had enough time, and then I ordered some reforms in the floor and the water system..."

  
"It's yours?" Will interrupted, holding Hannibal's arms tighter around his waist.

  
"It's _ours_." Hannibal corrected. "Our little hidden paradise alongside the Atlantic ocean. Come inside, you're shivering. I'll prep us a hot bath."

  
Will turned to gaze him. "You're amazing."

  
"You're over reacting. But I'm glad you liked."

  
Will leaned closer and whispered "I love you" in Hannibal's cheek, receiving a passionate kiss in return.

 

 

"Jimmy and Brian finally assumed their relationship." Will commented while Hannibal was coming from the kitchen with a bottle of red wine.

  
"Really?" Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "And how that happened?" He gave Will a glass while opening the bottle.

  
"Brian was babbling about the broken machine while we were all drinking coffee and waiting for Jack to appear." Will held his glass to be poured. The color of the wine was a dark red, almost like blood. The moonlight coming from the big window behind Hannibal framed them both in it's soft light. "Jimmy got annoyed and told him to shut up, and when he refused, Jimmy leaned and kissed him. Just like that."

  
Hannibal raised his glass. "A toast to the lovers." He smiled, his features and curves brighten by the full moon. "To them, and to us. To everyone who might ever feel what we feel for each other and decide to not let the love go to waste."

  
Will leaned closer to him, kissing Hannibal. He sipped his wine.

  
"You forgot the toast." Hannibal pointed.

  
"Wait." Will refilled his glass, giving the bottle back to Hannibal, that waited with his glass untouched, raised in the air. Will turned to the table next to him to pick a handkerchief and clean the glass's borders, making it look like he hadn't drink.

 

 

Is it common for people who suffer an accident or a big unexpected trauma to remember the occurred as if happening in slow motion. That applied to Will too.

  
He was turning back to Hannibal with his glass refilled when the unmistakable sound of a bullet coming through flash arrived in his ears.

In slow motion, his body moved, leaving his glass behind.  
In slow motion, the air stood still, the silence following the sound of the bullet.  
In slow motion, he watched as the bottle of wine slipped from Hannibal's fingers, shattering on the floor in small pieces. Before his mind could even set him the alert to react, Hannibal was on the floor.

  
He did not scream. Not once.

  
Will did.

  
"Hannibal!"

 

  
 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought of this chapter!


	3. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows the end of last chapter, when Hannibal gets shot and it changes Will's life forever.
> 
> PS: Prepare yourself for the tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!!!!!!  
> Guys, I'm so so so so so sorry that I haven't posted in all this time! I'm really sorry. Seriously. To show you all how sorry I am I'll post two chapters today, okay? Because I really love you all. Would like to dedicate this chapter to my beta and best friend, Celeste, and Matilda, one of my readers that came by to ask how I'm doing. It made my entire month, sweetie :D 
> 
> This chapter playlist:  
> You can hear all the songs here in this playlist I made in my YT channel: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLEgNJ8TZdGIck513vliwrcb8OTfCFIP-W  
> Or the songs are:  
> Piano Sonata No. 14 in C Sharp Minor, No. 2 Moonlight - Adagio Sostenuto - Ludwig van Beethoven  
> Bloodfest - brian reitzel  
> Losing My Religion - Ryan Star  
> Please Don't Go - Barcelona  
> Kettering - The Antlers

_"Hannibal!"_

 

 

Will took almost an entire second to process what happened. He ran to Hannibal and laid on the floor, pressing his hands on a bleeding wound on the man's right side. "Hannibal?!"

"I..." He coughed. "I think it's him."

"Him who?"

"Our killer." He shut his eyelids tight with the pain. "Go get him."

"Fuck him, I'm calling an ambulance."

" _Will_." Hannibal moaned. Will wasn't sure if it was a reprehension or if he was agonizing.

"Ok, ok."

Will ran to the bedroom to collect his gun while dialing 911. When he passed by Hannibal through the broken window, he knew it was already too late: he'd find no one outside, and, to be sincere, he actually expected not to. It would either lead to a confrontation or get him injured, and all he cared about was his bleeding husband in the living room.

He faced the cliff, then the ocean around the house, and, finally, the road. No signs of the killer. Whomever did that vanished with the wind after accomplishing his task.

Will ran back inside, kneeling in front of Hannibal. The bloodied man had his eyes closed.

Will swallowed hard. No. "Hannibal?!"

Hannibal gasped, coughing some blood on Will's blouse.

"Keep your eyes open, for God's sake." Will begged. "The ambulance is on its way, okay? You will be fine."

Hannibal tried to smile. "And...?"

"He's gone."

A moment of silence passed between them, while they stared into each other's eyes. "Will?"

Will rubbed Hannibal's soft cheek. "Shh, you will be fine, ok?"

"I think I'm going to die."

Will stopped breathing for a second. He was so used to dealing with people around him being shot — victims, FBI agents, Jack, even Hannibal had been shot before. He was so used to it that it didn't occur to him the slight possibility that Hannibal could be severely injured. Trying to be discrete, he gazed at the amount of blood spilling from his wound on the floor and gasped. "No. You're not dying." He said, yet his lips were trembling when he spoke. He couldn't die. He just... Couldn't. 

"It's ok." Hannibal whispered with a strange serenity in his voice. "It's fine."

"Shut up!" Will was beginning to get desperate. Where was the damn ambulance?! "You're not dying. It's just a bullet, you've been in this situation before!" 

"I... Guess the bullet is stuck in my spleen." Hannibal gasped, coughing. "It's fine." He smiled. "You know I've... I've never been afraid..." He bit his lower lip, trying to control the pain. "Of death."

"Shut up." Will whispered, stroking Hannibal's hair, pressing it against his fingers as if he would slip away at any moment. "Shut up. Shut up."

Hannibal raised his hand to touch Will's face. It was only when Hannibal touched a tear that he realized he was crying. "It's fine, Will. You will be fine."

"Shut up!" Will shouted, panicking. "Don't you dare say this to me. Just... Don't. You can't die. You won't die."

"Will... I love y-"

"No! Don't start with goodbyes. Don't you dare die on me, Hannibal Lecter!" 

Hannibal stroked Will's pretty curls. Gosh, how he would miss those curls. It was such a pity to be dying like that. So stupid. Yet he knew he was bleeding too much, too fast. It would be a luxury if he could resist until the hospital. The pain was taking his breath away, but he was trying his best not to show it. Will was desperate. He had to make him calm down.

"Will... It's fine, okay? I'm happy that the last face I will see is the only one that matters to me."

"Shut up! Don't talk to me like that!" Will freaked, the tears blurring his vision. "You're not dying. I do not give you permission to die! Oh, please... Hannibal..."

"Will..."

"Don't. You can't do this to me. Don't tell me it's fine! It might be fine for you if you die, but... It will destroy me! What's going to happen to _me_  when you're gone? How do you think I'll survive without you?! You can't." He begged. "You're not dying tonight. You are not dying when you planned all this amazing weekend for us, do you hear me? I didn't had the life I want by your side yet. You're... Please, don't... I love you, Hannibal, don't leave me..."

Hannibal sensed a tear rolling down from his own eyes. He knew that Will said the truth. He wouldn't make it. He wouldn't recover from this. And it was a train meant to wreck, impossible to stop. He could feed the caterpillar, whisper through the chrysalis, but what would hatch would follow its own nature: it was beyond him. There was nothing Hannibal could do to prevent it.

The realization broke his heart.

Hannibal never imagined he would die in such a silly way. He has always pictured his death as a solitary act, somewhere in France or Italy. At some point he would find himself ill with a mundane, ordinary disease, and when he'd feel it was a matter of time until pain took advantage of his body and mind, he would gently self medicate with a high dose of morphine. He'd be sipping from a good glass of wine while watching the sunset in the moment he vanished from this life. Dying with a bullet in his guts was just... Rude. Yet, he felt somehow glad. It wouldn't be solitary after all. He wasn't alone. The only person that understood and loved him fully was by his side. Those soft curls were tangled in his fingers, those blue eyes in his eyesight, those rosy lips close to reach.

Hannibal smiled, stroking Will's skin. "With all my... Knowledge and intrusion... I could never, entirely... Predict you."

Will frowned. "What...? What does this mean?"

"You're so much more than I had expected to be... I'm thankful... To have you with me."

"Please, don't talk like that. Please." Will begged. "We made vows. Vows, Hannibal, to not leave." He cried.

"'Till death do us part'" Hannibal remembered.

"God, Hannibal, please..." Will cried, squeezing his husband's hand rested in his cheek. "I-"

Finally, the miraculous sound of the ambulance's siren could be heard. "Thank you." Will whispered, as if speaking to God. "I'm not leaving of your side." He said to Hannibal. "You'll be fine."

Hannibal nodded, feeling the weight of tiredness approaching.

 

Someone coughed near Will. "Mrs. Graham?"

He raised his head to face the brunette doctor that had entered the operation room with Hannibal and the other doctors when they came to the hospital. He had been aware of every doctor coming to the waiting room for the past six hours, raising his head with every sound of footsteps, panicking every time someone cried, spoke or breathed next to him. His nerves were awake, his muscles tense, though his mind was melting down. He no longer knew how to respond to the doctor in front of him. "Mrs. Graham?" She called again.

"Yes." His voice was robotic.

"We were able to remove the bullet" she started.

Will stood up, ready to go see Hannibal.

"But..." The doctor swallowed. She seemed young, almost inexperienced. "While we were removing the bullet and trying to control the bleeding..."

Will stared at her. It was uncommon for him to make eye contact with unknown people, but, for some reason, he did. And, right there, he saw why she was having such a hard time telling him how Hannibal was. She was as sensible as he was, and empathy was hurtful. Will could see how hard it was for her to keep her eyes up, meeting his. If it was in another time and place, he might have said that she could relax, it was fine to speak without looking at him in the eyes. But at that moment, it wasn't fine. He needed her to look at him. His life depended on this.

"... He collapsed."

Will stared at her blankly.

"And?"

She frowned, confused. "And?"

"I'm waiting for you to continue. Telling how was the surgery."

The doctor tensed even more. She inhaled deeply before speaking. "He...  He didn't make it. We couldn't save him. I'm so sorry."

Will's hands were shaking. His eyes were filled with a curtain of water, blocking his view.

"If you'd like to say goodbye..."

Moving automatically, in auto pilot, he followed the doctor to the morgue. The morgue. Hannibal was in the morgue.

She opened the door and waved him to get inside. "Just close the door when you leave. I'll be on the front desk where we can talk about the funeral plans."

Funeral plans. Haha. What a joke. Funeral plans.

As Will entered, his mind, body, spirit, his whole life fell onto the floor like a teacup, breaking in thousands of pieces. He didn't turn to the doctor while speaking. He couldn't turn away. 

"Please, stay near." He asked. "I think I might have a mental breakdown."

Will gazed at the body. The corpse.

His husband was lying in a metal table, a dark grey sheet covering his body up to the chest. Beside him, a chair. Will sat, not very aware of what his body was doing. He felt out of space, disconnected. He felt like he was both living and watching the scene in third person, like happens sometimes in dreams.

He gazed Hannibal's face. He looked so serene. It felt so unfair that Will held the impulse to punch him.

"Hann?" He whispered. "Hannibal?"

Will waited a moment before calling again. "Hannibal?"

Nothing.

The tears exploded from his eyes, running down his face like waterfalls.

" _Dr. Lecter?_ " Will called with his last hopes, his voice too low to be heard apart from the two of them. "No. No... Oh God, Hannibal... Please... Don't. Don't do this, please. I love you. Did you hear me? I love you."

Will gathered forces to lean his body closer, pressing his lips to Hannibal's.  They were still warm, just starting to get cold. Will burst into tears in his husband's lips, pressing them as if nothing else mattered.

Nothing actually mattered anymore.

"I'm not ready to say goodbye..." Will cried. He rested his head in Hannibal's chest, and the lack of sound only made him cry. He was laying his head where he used to sometimes to sleep, hearing his heart beat. Now, there was no sound.

Nothing.

"I... I- I-" he gasped. "I can't breathe. I can't breathe." He whispered, and then shouted, falling from the chair on the ground. "I can't breathe!"

Will was barely aware of himself when they carried him away from the morgue. He focused his eyes in Hannibal's face and screamed that he couldn't leave his side.

He couldn't.

He promised.

 

Will walked down the same corridor he had paced through so many times before. He wasn't so sure of what he was doing there, but anyway, there he was.

There he was, heading to Jack Crawford's office, where he knew everyone would be.

The alcohol made it hard to walk straight, but he kept going. He only stopped for a moment when he arrived, staring at all the faces through the opened door. Strangely, drinking had proved itself ineffective in soothing the pain. He could feel its sharp edges eating him alive while he was seeing all those familiar faces, unaware of the big news. They seemed to be enjoying the morning before the work, Alana and Beverly pouring coffee to one another, Jack involved in an excited conversation with Jimmy and Brian, both laughing.

They all made Will sick.

He hadn't drank enough to feel like vomiting, but now it seemed like a good idea. He wasn't even drunk, just a little dizzy. Maybe he should have drank more.

Will quietly entered the office, just staring blankly at his coworkers. His mind couldn't process a word of what they were saying, but the voices were too loud.

"Yeah, it's going to be amazing, telling the governor we can't proceed with the investigation because he decided to cut budgets and now we have two broken machines." Jimmy laughed.

"Hannibal is dead." Will said in a low tone.

No one heard.

"Hi, Will." Beverly waved with her cup of coffee, then turned back to Alana again.

"Hannibal is dead." He tried again after clearing his throat.

"Could you imagine the scandal the press would make..."

"Hannibal is dead."

"...if they discovered we are here drinking coffee and playing cards?" Brian laughed.

"It's just a matter of time before this become public and we'll have a huge headache, that's it." Jack commented, rubbing his forehead.

"Hannibal is dead"

Alana headed closer to Will, extending the coffee jar to him. "Do you want some coffee?"

Will mechanically extended his hands to grab the jar, wondering if he had become invisible and mute as Alana walked away. Maybe he was in a dream, maybe it was one of those dreams in which you scream, but your voice doesn't come out, and you wave your arms desperately, but no one can see you. Then you try to run, but you're stuck in place. Yeah. Maybe it was just a dream. A nightmare. Maybe he was actually drunk, maybe he had been drunk all this time, maybe that weekend did not happen. Maybe Hannibal was alive, waiting for him in their house.

Will knew nothing of that was true. The weight in his chest was there to prove it did, indeed, happen. The stain of dried blood on the shirt he was wearing underneath his coat was there to prove.

Will held the coffee jar in his fingers as if it was a delicate piece of jewelry, and gazed deeply at its black contents.

"Hannibal is dead." He whispered to the jar.

_Hannibal is dead._

The realization of that statement hit him hard. Hannibal was dead. He was gone. He wasn't coming back.

It was over.

The jar slipped from his fingers. The sound of glass shattering on the floor abruptly called everyone's attention.

As they all turned to Will, he finally spoke, loud and clear.

"Hannibal is dead."

Then he vomited on the pieces of the broken jar, and fainted as his friends asked him what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked! Please comment what you're thinking so far about the story!  
> Just in case any of you want to know, when Will goes to the FBI to announce Hannibal's death, I wrote based on Grey´s Anatomy 11x22. 
> 
> See you all on next chapter!


	4. Come Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Consider this as my apology for taking too long to update the story. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLEgNJ8TZdGIeUPeojt4OpHILZyWjieofp  
> Songs:  
> Break Up - Alexandre Desplat  
> 9 Crimes - Damien Rice  
> The Weight of Us - Sanders Bohlke  
> Dead in the Water - Ellie Goulding

Will was slowly waking up. He waited before opening his eyelids, imagining if Hannibal was already up. Maybe he was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. That would be good. A cup of coffee and some bread would be very good.

Too soon he opened his eyes, and the sight was unusual. It wasn't the wooden ceiling of their bedroom, and the light was strange. Normally, their room would be filled with a blue or lavender tone by the morning. Here, it was greenish.

Frowning, Will sat up to take a good look around. For a moment, he didn't know where he was, but he certainly wasn't home. Then the reality begun to sink in, and he had to lie down again.

He wasn't home. He was laying on his couch, in his old house in Wolf Trap, Virginia.

Will had no idea how he got there. He couldn't remember walking in or laying on the couch. But one thing he knew for sure: if he wasn't home, it was because that horrible memory was real. He couldn't remember going to that house, but, if he was there, it meant the worst.

Hannibal was dead.

Will sighed, the thought of his husband cooking for them vanishing from his mind, leaving behind a trace of pain and desperation. He sat down again, too fast, and he felt dizzy, his head carrying the weight of an anvil for some unknown reason.

He tried to stand up, staggering to the bathroom, but fell right back on the couch. Trying one more time, he stood up to see what seemed to be a battlefield or a crime scene. Everything in his living room was out of place. Absolutely everything. The piano was away from the wall, almost in a diagonal position, the shelf was out of place, books all over the floor, his coffee table was turned. Its glass surface was shattered on the floor, together with shards of vases and fragments that seemed like once were his plates. Clothes were also on the ground. It seemed like a hurricane had passed by the house. The only intact beings were his dogs, sleeping between books and clothes, hopefully without pieces of glass in their paws. Winston opened his eyes and stood up when he saw Will was awake.

Slowly, Will tried to pass by the wreckage to get to the bathroom. Near the door he could see small pieces of broken glass on the floor, reflecting his confused countenance. Entering the bathroom he faced more destruction. His mirror was broken, a circular crack indicating a spot where something was seemingly thrown at.

He couldn't remember any of this.

He had no idea why his house was destroyed.

Will gazed at himself in the broken mirror. He seemed awful, looking lost and ill, his eyes swollen, his face sweaty, a red cut on his cheek and another on the base of his neck – both of which he had no memories about.

While contemplating himself, he felt the way he used to feel before he knew Hannibal. Like a misguided ghost, wandering through the earth with no purpose, collecting people's feelings with his empathy and getting intoxicated by it. Will stared right through his reflection, past him, as if he was just a stranger, unrecognizable, unknown.

After splashing some water on his face, he decided that it was better to take a bath and then go after some medicine for that headache. The water was too cold when it first hit his body. A flash of an image crossed his mind while he begun to wash himself.

"Hannibal is dead." He said to his co-workers and boss.

Images flashed in front of his eyes as the water fell on his body.

A jar of coffee breaking on the floor.

A wine bottle crashing in pieces.

"Hannibal is dead."

"We couldn't save him."

"It's fine, Will."

Alana running to catch Will before he fell on the floor of Jack's office.

His friends asking dozens of questions about what had happened.

Hannibal's coffin being closed.

Snowflakes falling on his face.

"I'm curious, whether either of us can survive separation."

Will asking Alana if she could bring the dogs to Wolf Trap. "I can't go near that house." He said to her after the funeral when she was leaving.

The drive to his old house.

Waiting in the porch, in the cold.

Greeting his dogs with tears in his eyes.

Lying to Alana that he would call her to make sure he was fine, when all he wanted was for her to leave him alone.

Entering his old house and facing what once was his home, now more of an empty cocoon, the walls screaming to him everything that was wrong with being there.

"Hannibal is dead"

He is not coming back.

_He's gone._

Will pressed his back against the shower box's wall, his body slipping towards the floor. Flashes of him entering the house, picking a bottle of whisky and starting to drink filled his mind. And as he fell on the floor, too exhausted to stand up, he remembered drinking one bottle after another.

He remembered his rage crisis, when he was crying so much he couldn't see a thing in front of him, while his hands kept pushing, throwing, breaking anything within his reach, sending it all to the floor.

When he begun to sob in the shower, he remembered the extreme agony he felt the afternoon before, which drove him to start screaming while crying and to break things, he remembered the acid desperation that made him drunk too fast, without any control of his actions.

He had a short recollection of having thrown a bottle against the bathroom's mirror while screaming with all the air in his lungs. He kept screaming and screaming and screaming until he probably got too tired, lay down on the couch and fell asleep.

Biting his lower lip while the water fell on his back, his head pressed against his knee, Will screamed once more, no words, only the guttural scream of a wounded animal.

"He is dead" he whispered. The tears blurred his eyesight once more, and for an instant he wished he would have a stroke and die in that bathroom, anything to make that excruciating pain and agony disappear.

"He is dead. Hannibal is dead."

_Hannibal is dead._

 

Hannibal is dead.

 

Hannibal is dead.

 

Hannibal is dead.

 

Hannibal...

 

The phone was ringing.

Ringing. And ringing.

Will was laying on his bed, stroking Buster, staring at the ceiling, the heaviness of the pain keeping him as still as possible.

Hannibal would freak out if he saw one of the dogs on the bed. His face when Will moved in to his house bringing all his dogs was unforgettable.

"I don't mind the dogs" Hannibal said with a frowned face that suggested otherwise. "But we will have to educate them."

"Educate them? They are very well educated, mister." Will replied.

"They might be, but new house, new rules." Hannibal smiled. "Starting with the fact that they can't get inside the house all at once, or it will become a mess."

Will laughed, kissing his husband's cheeks. At the beginning he didn't pay much attention to Hannibal's rules to the dogs, but they were pretty serious. Will watched while Hannibal engaged in the task of knowing each one of the dogs' personalities, their weak and strong points, their habits. It was strange to see all the effort he put into this. One night, Will asked him why he was doing that.

"I'm not particularly a fan of dogs, you know that, but the point is that you love them, and I love you, so it's my job to at least try to like them."

And he did. Hannibal decided to build a house to the dogs as big as his garage, and he alone bought a considerable amount of pet furniture: beds, toys, food plates and collars with their names. Near one of the walls, he put two armchairs and a small table, so he or Will could seat there to read a book and drink a glass of wine while in the company of the pets. It was funny to see that after some time, Hannibal spent long hours of his insomnia nights in one of those armchairs, with one of the dogs sleeping on his feet.

His cellphone begun to rang, bringing him back from his memories. Now the cellphone and the house phone were ringing nonstop. Will didn't move. He didn't even blink.

Whoever was calling, it wasn't important nor worthy of his effort to stand up. The only person he would possibly want to speak to at that moment was unreachable, was... dead.

The phone made a beep, introducing a voicemail.

"Will?" It was Alana's voice. "Look, if you're listening, can you please pick up the phone? One of them, at least?"

Will merely blinked, focusing on his white ceiling, his fingers tangled in Buster's fur, who slept quietly.

Alana sighed through the machine. "Will, please. I'm worried about you. I want to know how you're doing."

_How I'm doing?_

He's just like a person should be after having his or her life shattered like that bottle of wine that fell from Hannibal's finger: in one moment everything is fine, and the next...

The next you're in the morgue facing your dead husband.

How could he possibly be? How was he supposed to react? Will had no idea. Nobody taught him. When you marry someone, there is that part on the vows that says "'till death do us part" but you're not taught what comes after that. The vows end there and you are left with the "death doing us part" bit, left alone to find a way to deal with it. And even though Will saw many deaths in his job, they never hit close to home – except maybe for Garret Jacob Hobbs –, so they never had this heaviness attached to them. He didn't remember his mother; his father's death was like any other day. It sucked, but he was alone most of the time anyway, and even though it was good to have his father as company to fish, they weren't intimate, so there wasn't much to mourn over.

When the doctor called Will to tell him his husband was dead, she forgot to give him the manual on How To Deal With A Loved One's Death (which in fact was a good thing, he might have thrown it on her face).

"Will? I have this feeling you are at your house just listening to this and making me feel more worried, so I'm going to drive to your house now, and I'll break the door if you don't let me in, okay? See you in a couple of hours."

The machine beeped again, ending her message.

Will didn't move.

About an hour later, when Will was almost falling asleep, the doorbell rang. He closed his eyes and turned his head again, trying to sleep. He couldn't. Every time he closed his eyelids, the image of Hannibal falling on the ground appeared, making his heart beat raise, adrenaline running through his veins until his only alternative was opening his eyes again.

He was so tired.

The doorbell rang again.

"Will?"

Will sighed, not sure what to do. That stupid hybrid car Alana had, maybe if he'd heard her coming he could have... What? He had no idea. He would've run away to hide and avoid talking to her? Hide where?

Will got up, unlocking the door, hopefully planning that the sooner he let her inside, the sooner she would leave.

Alana looked rather awkward, carrying a lot of plastic bags. She didn't look at Will while speaking, trying to adjust all the bags on her arms. "Thanks for opening, I was afraid I would have to break in." Alana raised her head to face Will and went mute, her eyes and lips in a shocked expression. "Jesus, what happened to your face?"

Will had no idea what she was talking about. After a long time he remembered that, on the day after the funeral, he had woken up with cuts on his face and neck, probably made by some shards of glass that fell on him while he was drunkenly breaking his house down. He had no idea how those cuts looked now, but probably they were what she was talking about.

"Just a small accident while shaving." He lied, his voice emotionless.

Alana kept staring at him with concerned eyes. Suddenly, her expression changed, as if she had remembered what she was doing there. "Can I get in?"

"I suppose I have no choice." Will mumbled while letting her pass.

Alana entered the house in a hurry but stopped halfway. "What... what happened here?!"

Will looked disdainfully at the furniture out of place and at the books scattered on the floor. He found no purpose on putting his things back to their places. The only thing he did was sweeping away the glass shards and anything sharp that might harm the dogs, putting them in a garbage bag near the door.

"Coffee?" Will offered, changing the subject.

Alana was astonished. "Um... well..." Hearing her voice, the dogs came running to greet her, even Buster, who was previously sleeping on Will's bed. "Hi guys." She smiled while stroking their heads.

"I'm going to make some coffee." Will walked to the kitchen, as if nothing was strange there, as if Alana's visit was as normal as any day. She followed him and put the bags on the table.

Will was trying to focus on making the coffee. It was odd to use the oven, he had been feeding himself with frozen food these days, much because he didn't have much hunger, and every activity was exhausting.

"You're not going to ask what is all this?" Alana said. Will turned to see what she was talking about. She was pointing to the bags.

"They belong to you. Even if I were curious to know what it is," which I'm not, he completed on his mind, "it's rude to put my nose in other's people business."

"Actually those things belong to you."

"Me?" Will frowned.

"It's food."

Will couldn’t understand.

"Hannibal's patients left it in front of the house." Alana explained.

"Why?"

"It's a common gesture to show solidarity. And considering by the amount of frozen food’s packages on your sink, it'd come in handy."

Will looked at the bags with the corner of his eyes. It was nine, maybe ten bags. If all of them had food, he could eat for the next three months without having to go to the market.

"In case you find bits of food missing, it's because Jack had them analysed."

"Analysed?"

"For poison. We thought that whomever... Hurt Hannibal" she seemed to be having trouble expressing herself, "might want to hurt you too."

Will sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "No, no. That's... stupid. First, it's not ‘whomever’, it's the killer the FBI is currently searching for. Second, he won't... He's already done what he planned."

Alana stared at Will as if he was delusional. "And that was...?"

"We're trying to take something from him, his freedom. It's more effective to take something from us than to kill one of us. Even Steven."

Alana lowered her eyes to the table and sighed with visible pain.

"He did both." She whispered. If she meant it or not was unknown, but Will heard it.

He swallowed hard, finding it difficult to breathe.

"What were you doing at the house?" He poured the coffee in two cups and served Alana. It smelled awful.

"Well... bureaucracies. Closing Hannibal's bills, cancelling appointments with the recurrent patients... This sort of thing."

Will couldn't understand. Maybe some part of his brain that was used to reasoning was frozen, broken in pieces like all the glass in his house.

Like the bottle of wine Hannibal was holding.

Everything seemed so difficult to follow. It was so exhausting.

"Why are you doing this?" Will seated in front of her, all the bags between them.

"Because he was my friend. He was... a mentor to me. And a colleague." She breathed deeply. "And I don't know how to deal with his death... I need to feel useful. And I'm doing this because of you, Will. I care about you, and you're already suffering enough without having to deal with these stupid things." Alana looked at the food. "Even his patients care about you and your pain. I thought it would be nice if you knew you are not... Alone."

_I'd rather be._

"Thank you." Will said, without meaning it. He couldn't connect with all of this. Her pain seemed fake; he couldn't care less for Hannibal's patients. "But please don't bring more food." He sipped his coffee. It tasted awful. His stomach complained immediately. "I don't need their pity."

"Will..." Alana sighed, drinking her coffee normally. How could she, when it was so unpalatable? "I'm worried about you. It's been two weeks. I know it's too soon, but... I'm worried. You're too quiet. I thought you might want someone to talk about what happened."

Will smiled cynically. "I have no trouble talking about what happened. I can give you a full report, with forensic details. 'Hannibal is dead'. Easy as saying 'good morning'. Easier, maybe."

"Will." She sighed.

"I'm fine."

Alana reached out for Will's hand on the table. She put hers above of his, squeezing it gently. Will abruptly yanked his hand away, like she had burned him. Alana sighed in resignation, as if she had already expected that.

"I want to know if you'd like to come live with me. You can bring the dogs. You will have your time to be by yourself, but you'll also have some company."

"No. Thank you, but no. I said I'm fine" Will answered in an angry tone. Alana was starting to piss him off.

"Will... Let me do something for you."

Will stood up quickly, annoyed. "I'm sorry, I know you want to be helpful, and you are, but I do not need a nanny. I'm fine."

"I didn't mean to say you needed a nanny, Will." She stood up too.  "I'm just worried about you."

"Don't be. I'm fine." How many times would he have to repeat that for her to believe it?

How many times would he have to repeat that for himself to believe it?

"I know you're in pain, Will. We all are. Let me help you."

"I don't need your help!" Will shouted. "Can you undo what happened?! Can you bring him back?! Can you make this pain go away?! He's not coming back, there is no way you can help me!"

The pain hit Will hard. His hands started shaking, he was about to burst in tears, and if there was one thing he couldn't handle was Alana's friendly hug of "everything will be fine".

"Please, leave."

"Will..."

"Alana, please."

Alana felt the urge in Will's voice, sensing he wasn't ready to share his pain. She touched his shoulder on her way out. "Call me. Just once. Please."

Will closed his eyes, his hands shaking even more. "I will, but please leave me alone."

His body was shaking badly. He couldn't stay still.

As he heard the door closing, his knees gave out, the tears coming down his cheek.

Before he could notice what he was doing, Will was dialling a very familiar number on the phone.

It rang.

And rang.

He heard a beep. And then... Oh.

"Hello, you've called Hannibal Lecter. Unfortunately I seem to be busy at the moment. Leave your message after the signal and I'll return your call as soon as possible."

 

Oh.

Oh my God.

Oh.

Will couldn't breathe.

It was his voice.

It was Hannibal's voice.

He rang up just to call again.

 

"Hello, you've called Hannibal Lecter. Unfortunately I seem to be busy at the moment. Leave your message after the signal and I'll return your call as soon as possible."

 

...

 

"Hello, you've called Hannibal Lecter. Unfortunately I seem to be busy at the moment. Leave your message after the signal and I'll return your call as soon as possible."

 

 

...

 

"Hello, you've called Hannibal Lecter. Unfortunately..."

...

"Hello, you've called Hannibal Lecter..."

 

"Hann?" Will whispered, his lips trembling. He was sobbing desperately, almost unable to hold the phone. "Hann... It's me. Love? It's me. It's Will. Hannibal. Please come home. Please. I need you. Come home. Come home... Please. I can't do this. I can't... I need you. Hannibal, please. Come home, love, I'm wai- I'm waiting for you. Come home."

 

_Beep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked, please tell me your thoughts!
> 
> It's being a good idea to post a youtube playlist with the songs of this chapter or not?


	5. Ice Skating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will announces a decision and fade back into memories of the beginning of his relationship with Hannibal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys!  
> I'm a very bad person, taking all this time to post. Sorry! Well, here comes hard decisions for Will and a fluffy, cute memory. Hope everyone likes it!
> 
> Songs: (try this link, see if it works now: https://youtu.be/HFWKJ2FUiAQ?list=PLEgNJ8TZdGIeKPupoYOHyes0yApOwovPO) 
> 
> This Mortal Coil - Song To The Siren  
> Brigitte Fassbaender; "Der Lindenbaum"; Winterreise; F. Schubert  
> Carter Burwell - Bella's Lullaby  
> Falling Slowly - Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova

Will had to stop walking to remind himself that he had to breathe from time to time. It was ridiculous. Well, of course he would feel bad, the last time he walked by that corridor was to announce that Hannibal was dead. 

Once more he was heading to Jack's office. 

That was actually a funny fact about death: life has to carry on for those who are physically alive, even if they're not so in the inside. People around you tolerate your grief, your pain, but just as long as it doesn't match with their schedule. And as long as you keep doing what you're supposed to do. 

Will had two weeks off and now it was time to go back to work, get his ass out of the bed and put his feet back on the dirt. Ha. What a joke.

He entered Jack's office trying to hide his shaking hands in his pants’ pockets. His throat was closed, his stomach tight, a big nausea making his thoughts cloudy. 

"Hello, Will." Jack smiled, his eyes full of pity. 

Will coughed. "Hi."

"Nice to have you back. Have a seat." He pointed to the chair in front of his table. 

Will squeezed his fingernails on his palms inside his pockets. "Actually... I have something to say."

"Say it." 

Will took a deep breath and then spat it out. "I'm out of the cases. Any cases."

" _What?_ "

"I'm not going to the fields anymore. I'll just keep my classes."

"Why?"

How could Jack _not_  know why?

Will sighed heavily. "Because I can't. I just... Can't." 

Jack stared at Will with big eyes of surprise. He was so positively sure that Will would come back full of rage, his palms sweating with hunger for justice that he couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was such a shock. 

"You wanna go back to your lecture hall?" Jack asked slowly, trying to convince himself that he’d heard correctly. 

Will nodded. 

"You go back to your classroom. Ok." He made a pause. "But it will sour your classroom forever when there comes murders you could've prevented, you know that, right?"

Jack was really astonished. How could Will not be desperate to put someone in jail? 

Will sighed. He knew it would be hard to convince Jack. Well, convince wasn't the right word, he wasn't bargaining his position. He was there to announce he wasn't going anywhere but his classes anymore; it didn't matter what Jack said, he wouldn't change his mind. 

"I don't actually care." Will answered, staring at the floor. 

Nothing could come to haunt him more than his husband's death. And if his class became too much, then he would easily go back to fixing boat motors. 

Jack breathed heavily. 

"Fine, then. But finish this case. Just this one."

"No." _Specially this one_. 

"Don't you want to catch who..." Jack gasped, unsure of how to approach Hannibal's death's subject. "Who did it?"

Will raised his head and stared at Jack, his eyes and voice cold and distant. It seemed that the conversation was taking forever to end. "Will it bring him back?"

"Well, no, but... It may prevent others from suffering the same pain you're going through." 

"I don't actually care." Will repeated. 

Jack rubbed his face, annoyed. Will was hard as a brick sometimes. He had no idea how to convince him. What he knew was that leaving Will outside the fields was a big waste of time and talent, and most probably a waste of more lives. 

"Where's your empathy?" He asked a few moments later. 

"Hm, wait." Will smiled acidly. "Oh, right! I guess I left it in Hannibal's coffin, sorry." 

It was a lost cause, and Jack was losing his patience too. There was nothing he could do. 

"Anyway, I made my point. If you need me" Will said "... Actually, don't. Forget it. I'll be lecturing. And please, don't bother coming after me to tell what happened when this case is over. I do not want or care to know."

Jack sighed, biting his lower lip in order to not shout at the man in front of him. 

Will walked to the doors.

"Fear makes you rude, Will." Jack added.

"I'm not afraid." Will answered while shutting the door behind him. 

 

 

Will sat on his armchair with a cup of tea warming his hands and blanket around his shoulders. He’d been carrying that old torn blanket all over the house during the past days, as if it would provide him an invisibility cloak as much as a protection, some kind of dome where he would be safe inside. He sipped the tea, burning his tongue. 

A memory came out of nowhere, bursting in the corners of his brain, vivid as if it were happening again in front of Will. That had been happening alarmingly often lately. Will would be taking a shower or giving a boring class or drinking coffee or feeding the dogs or having insomnia, it would come at any time. Lots and lots of memories from his life with Hannibal would surface to haunt him, in an agony to be remembered and relived that made him want to scream. He did that a lot, in fact. 

Will knew he was starting to get frightened by the possibility of forgetting any detail of what they had, the exact tone of his husband's eyes and the timbre of his voice. He knew it was unavoidable, he heard it many times from all sort of different people. He himself had had this experience. He didn't remember his mother, and the memories of his father were so faint in his mind that he couldn't recall his face without taking a long, long time to try to build the memory back together. But he didn't care that much, after all. He was detached from his parents since he was born – from what he could recall. With Hannibal... Life would be absolutely unnecessary the moment he realized he couldn't remember Hannibal as good as the real version. The simple thought of losing track of his memories was too damn scary. Because he knew that the second his memory started to blur, he would no longer be sure Hannibal existed. Because he was all that Will couldn't expect, mostly so because Hannibal loved him. It was like a dream he was being forced to wake up from, to face the reality that Hannibal was just that, just a creation of his mind.

This he wouldn't handle. He couldn't. Will was absolutely positive this would destroy him, would make him go crazy.

And he knew it was just a matter of time until it happened. Somehow he found relieve in the fact that he would not care for his own life beyond that point. It felt like lifting a big weight from his shoulders, somehow. 

Even though he’d rather be alive with the memories than dead with no recollection of the most important person in his life, even if the memories hurt.

The memory that appeared to him at that moment was an old one, from when he and Hannibal weren't together. Will smiled wryly while letting all the pieces of that memory come to the surface to embrace him. That one was hard to forget: it was the first time they kissed.

It was a cold but sunny day of winter, a Saturday in the middle of January. Hannibal was Will's psychiatrist – thanks to Jack Crawford – and they had been developing an unique friendship in the past nine months since they met, engaging in activities that had nothing to do with the FBI or therapy, and these were getting more intense every week. It started off as a few scattered, casual dinners in Hannibal's house, a meal in a restaurant that was only a few blocks away from where they were investigating a suspect, a visit to an exposition in a museum that would only be in town for a few weeks or a concert that Will couldn't say no to. Then it became a weekly program, daily visits on each other's house to share a cup of tea or coffee – even though they lived in different cities –, late night calls to complain about insomnia and share quotes of the book they'd been reading. 

It was something none of them would dare to say out loud, but they were enjoying each other's company much more than they acknowledged. And specially much more than recommended for a doctor-patient relationship. 

The fact was that neither cared about it. Hannibal had found a mind as unique as his own, waiting there for him to unravel all its mysteries and possibilities. Will was a delightful puzzle. Hannibal was the easy company that didn't push Will over the edge or obligated him to be someone he was not, and that didn’t judge him for thinking differently from most people. Actually, Hannibal seemed to absorb Will's mind with his eyes.

"We're here." Hannibal said, after stopping the car. All Will could see was leafless trees and snow. 

"What is _here_?" 

Hannibal smiled, leaving the car. Will followed him to the trunk. "A sunny winter's day demands a sunny winter's activity." 

"You know it's not that sunny, right?" Will said, looking at the sky. It was clear, no clouds and the sun was really there, but it still was freaking cold. 

Hannibal opened trunk, picking up a pair of—

"Oh, God, no" Will complained, grimacing.

Hannibal extended the ice skates to Will. "It's your size. I gave a discreet look at your shoes the last time I went to your house. Hope you can forgive my intrusion." He smiled. 

Will held the ice skates in his hands as if they were living, disgusting animals. "Look, I don't want to be rude, but I—"

"Then don't be." Hannibal had a smirk on his face, like he already knew Will wouldn't enjoy the idea, but he still decided to stick to it. 

"My coordination is just enough for basic human needs, like standing on my feet or walking."

"That's a lie. You have been trained as a cop to do more than 'basics'"

"I've been trained to catch murderers, not to ice-skate" Will answered, staring at the pair of skates in his hand. 

Hannibal rolled his eyes. "What are you afraid of?" 

"Something in between having my skull crashed in the freezing ground and making a fool of myself in front of someone who most probably knows what he's doing while using skates."

Hannibal opened a big smile. They both laughed for a while. 

"I'm serious." Will said, still laughing.

"I skate since I was young. There isn't much you can do while you're stuck in your boarding school during winter's break." Hannibal made a pause, picking his own pair of skates and a tote bag that seemed to carry a few water bottles. "Besides, this gives me the certainty that if you fall, I'll catch you before you hit the ground." He smiled proudly. "What will be your next excuse?" 

Will sighed while rolling his eyes, trying to deny a wave of excitement rushing inside his veins. Hannibal's words were echoing in his ears. _If you fall, I'll catch you_. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Try for twenty minutes. If you still hate it after that, I promise you we'll stop and we can do whatever you want." 

"I'm not liking you very much at this particular moment." Will confessed with a smile. 

They laughed, closing the car and walking some meters in between the trees until they found a big frozen lake.

 

Will was a complete disaster at the beginning. It took him almost an entire hour to find a way to stay on his feet without falling right after. Hannibal taught him the basic things about ice-skating, and when Will finally found some confidence in himself to try to walk, Hannibal took a step backwards to watch. 

Two hours after that, Will seemed like he'd always known how to ice-skate. It was basically a matter of trusting yourself and relaxing. Of course, he was nowhere near the perfection of Hannibal's movements, but that was okay. Hannibal moved like a feather, floating above the ice. He could go to the Olympics and win it easily. Will stopped countless times to watch the older man when he wasn't looking. He seemed like an angel, a mirage. 

Some flag of alert appeared in the back of Will's mind, which he quickly chose to ignore.

 

Will was having more fun than he would have imagined. "You know," he started, while skating backwards. "It's not because I'm enjoying this that you will get rid of my revenge." 

Hannibal laughed, continuing with his small show on the ice, unpreoccupied. "And what would that revenge consist in?"

"When it gets hotter" Will announced "we'll go fishing. And you don't get to say no as you did the last time."

"Seems fair, since I lured you here today, for me to do a sacrifice."

Will rolled his eyes, feeling the wind in his face. "What makes you think you won't enjoy fishing?"

"What makes you think I _will_?"

"It's very... Relaxing. Works well when you need to reflect." He remembered his mind palace. "It's very calming."

"I am a calm person" Retorted Hannibal.

"Ok, ok. Let me think how to convince you..." Will thought for a moment. "Well, I once met a person that said you should be very careful with what you put in your mouth. If you fish, you can be 100% sure of the provenance of the food that's going to be on your plate."

Hannibal smiled. "I do indeed like choosing my own food. You've got me."

Will lost his balance so fast that he didn't even had time to rationalize he was falling. Strong arms held him halfway. 

"Got you" Hannibal said in a low tone, looking deeply in Will's eyes.

Will couldn't take his eyes away, nor he wished to. He felt glued to that gaze. Hannibal was so close he could smell his amazing perfume, sense the warmth of his touch through the layers of clothing, holding him with strength and softness at the same time – if it was even possible. 

"I told you I wouldn't let you fall." Hannibal almost whispered, his breathe inebriating Will's thoughts.

"I guess now it's too late." Will heard himself whisper.

He hoped for a second that Hannibal hadn't listened. The doctor gently put one of his hands on the side of Will's neck, some fingers touching his chin, which he stroked calmly with soft fingertips, without breaking eye contact. Will stopped breathing.

Those fingers gently conducted Will's face up and closer, and gently, their lips touched. 

It was a calm gesture that could have more depth or not. It could be their first kiss ever or just one more to anyone that looked in that moment. Hannibal wasn't looking for acceptance, he knew he had it, but his kiss was gentle enough to be broken at any instant if the other wished so. 

When they separated, both had a smile of satisfaction in the face, as if finally something they were expecting for a long time had happened. 

Without thinking, Will leaned closer and kissed Hannibal with passion and ferocity, throwing his arms around the older man's neck. Hannibal embraced him and tangled his fingers in Will's pretty curls.

 

As the memory faded away, blurring back into reality with the help of a dog in need of attention, Will couldn't help but smile to himself. After stroking his pet for a while, he made a quick search in his house for something he didn't use in months, picking the car's key in his way out of the house, praying he would remember the way to the lake.

It was winter, the lake would be there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all on next chapter!  
> Oh, and by the way, i'm editing a new video about this fanfic!
> 
> P.S: I used some quotes from ep 1x05 Coquilles, you recognized?


	6. Vide Cor Meum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we go trough another one of Will's memories, this time a special moment when his relationship with Hannibal moved to the next level. Also, we will know where Will went when Alana said he had disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope I still have readers left after being gone for such a long time, and if I have, I want to tell you how much I love you, seriously! Can you forgive me? I had crazy weeks editing my semestral short movie at college, and couldn't write or post anything.  
> As an apologize (and due to requests and because I love vidding) I made a promo for what's coming next! You'll find in the promo informations and spoilers about this chapter and the following two or three chapters. I'll talk about the promo more on the ending notes so if you don't want to read it, skip the ending notes. Here's the link: https://youtu.be/sjqupMgKDcw
> 
> PS: Again, special thanks to my Beta Best Friend, Celeste
> 
> Songs: Turning Page - Sleeping At Last   
> Transatlanticism - Death Cab for Cutie  
> Chasing Cars - Jasmine Thompson (Snow Patrol Cover)  
> Vide Cor Meum - Patrick Cassidy  
> Chasing Cars - Sleeping At Last (Snow Patrol Cover)  
> Vespers - Patrick Cassidy and Lisa Gerrard

_Palermo, Italy, some years ago_

 

Will held his breath again while entering the Norman Chapel at Cappella Pallatina. If he kept holding his breath like that he would turn purple, but he couldn't stop himself. That was an experience he'd never lived before, and the unknown was scary to him, even when it's supposed to be a good thing.

The church was astonishing, filled with mosaics covering the high ceiling and walls. Will walked by the aisle slowly, absorbed by the beauty of the place. He was so distracted that it took him some time to notice the man in white suit standing by an altar with votive candles. But in the moment he put his eyes on the man, nothing else seemed to matter. No beauty in that church could be more special than his beauty.

Hannibal smiled, making Will's stomach squirm. Hannibal seemed so full of joy, so happy.

Will walked forward, coming closer to his – soon to be – husband. He was hypnotized by the look in Hannibal's eyes.

"This place..." Will babbled, unable to form a decent phrase.

"Beautiful, right?" Hannibal smiled, softly touching the back of Will's hand.

"It's a part of your mind palace" Will pointed, gesticulating to the floor. He remembered Hannibal describing it once, "the foyer is the Norman Chapel in Palermo, severe and beautiful and timeless, with a single reminder of mortality in the skull graven on the floor."

The skull was there, near them.

"Yes." Hannibal smiled even more. "I'm glad you remember."

"How couldn't I? You brought me inside your mind." Will looked around again. Hannibal described the place with perfection. He had the feeling he'd been there before, just by hearing the amount of detail in his description.

"And to the depths of my soul."

"I—" Will started, stopping himself from saying the words too loud. The church was almost empty, but anyway, it was a church that wouldn't be very proud of celebrating a homosexual wedding. The ceremony has to be intimate, private, only for the two of them. To Will, it couldn't be more perfect. He lowered his voice. "... Love you." He finished the sentence in barely a whisper.

"That's why we are here." Hannibal laughed.

"How will we do this?" Will pointed to them.

Hannibal smiled with a superior glint in his eyes, appearing to Will in an alpha wolf's pose. His gaze had a confidence, a guidance that Will could only aim to his life. "I'll light a candle and its flame l'll light another. Then we can speak our vows. After that, we can exchange our wedding rings." When he said this, Will's eyes grew bigger in shock. "Don't worry, I brought them. They're in my pocket."

Will immediately relaxed, relieved. For a moment he thought he was supposed to bring the rings – what made no sense, because who bought the rings was Hannibal, Will had never even seen them, so he couldn't be responsible for bringing them.

Will was very nervous, his heart beating so fast and loud that he was sure the entire church could hear it. His breath was quick and he was sweating, even though it was autumn and a cold breeze was came through the windows. Hannibal, on the other hand, seemed like he'd done that a thousand times. He was so comfortable, so sure of himself that it made Will almost jealous. What Will didn't know was that for Hannibal, there was nothing to worry about. He was, of course, afraid, of what that kind of shared life would bring, but he had never been so sure of something in his life. He needed Will to be his. It was as simple as that. In order to have the life he wanted and be the man he wanted to be, he needed Will in his life. He had no choice but to have him and love him. So there were no worries.

Hannibal picked a small matchbox in his blazer's pocket, selecting a match. Then he picked a candle, and looking deep into Will's eyes, he started his vow. "No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them." Hannibal spoke slowly, separating each word with his perfect diction. "By that love, we see potential in our beloved. Through that love, we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true. I promise I'll make of our lives together our best potential."

Will followed Hannibal, selecting one of the candles and bringing it closer to Hannibal's, to light it up with his candle's flame. They gazed at each other intensely.

"I..." Will stuttered. "Well, after this I refuse saying my vows."

Hannibal frowned. "Why?"

"Because my words are ridiculous and yours... No one has ever loved me this way."

"Please, Will. I want to hear."

Will blushed. "It's not that pretty or organized..."

"No word you might ever say will be wrong as you are thinking." Hannibal made a pause, smiling. He leaned his candle on Will's, waiting.

Will blushed even more. "O-okay". He coughed. "H-Hannibal..." His voice trembled. He cleared his throat, trying to calm himself down. "I have no idea at all of the reason we are here today." He started his lame speech.

Hannibal frowned, waiting.

"I mean, I don't know why or how we got here. Jack referred referred me to you as a patient and now we are here" Will pointed around. "I can't understand how a man like you would find anything slightly interesting in a man like me."

"Will—"

"Wait, this is part of my vows." Will smiled wryly, anxious. "I told you it was bad."

"Keep going."

"I still don't know what you could have possibly seen in me. But you are a very intelligent man, so you might know what you're doing." Will smiled again. It was sounding worse than what he imagined. "And, well, I can't promise you a lot of things. I can't promise you it will be easy. I can't promise you it will always be a dream in our daily life. I definitively can't promise I'll be the best husband you could have. I won't. I'll be moody, annoying, boring. I'll fight with you because of the dogs. Because of the way I iron my clothes. I'll never be able to cook a meal for you because it would be a crime to your taste. I'll never know as much as you about music, arts or poetry. I'll bring work home. And I'll keep taking you to my work when you do have yours. I'll probably come home late from work, or not come at all at night. I'll leave in the middle of the night and while we are having an amazing dinner because I have a killer to arrest. I'll come to you with my mind troubled by the criminal's mind and sometimes I will need you more as my doctor than my partner. I can't pretend these things won't happen, because they will. I'm human, a very imperfect one, by the way. But if you want me, even with all my flaws, if you still want me, there is one thing I can surely promise you." Will made a dramatic pause. At least he hoped the final were better than the rest of what he was saying. "If you fall, I'll catch you."

Hannibal opened the big and proudest smile Will had ever seen.

"Even on ice?" Hannibal asked, his eyes shining with joy. Will's vows were perfect.

"I know how to skate now." Will mocked.

They gazed at each other for a long minute, smiling profoundly, and then both began to laugh, a laugh of pure joy and fulfilment.

"You have no idea how desperately I want to kiss you right now." Hannibal confessed. "This is how much effect you have on me, Will."

Will blushed, unable to say a word. He was having a hard time not kissing Hannibal too.

The older man put his candle on the altar in front of him. Will did the same, placing his candle as close to Hannibal's as possible. Hannibal picked a small dark blue box in his pants' pocket, opening it and putting it on the altar. He picked the gold ring on the right. Will picked the one on the left. He took a moment to read the inscription in it and smile. _Vide Cor Meum_.

Hannibal held Will's hand, slowly placing the ring on his finger.

"I do." Will said.

Will put the ring on Hannibal's fingers.

"I do." Hannibal agreed.

 

 

Will held his wedding ring, spinning it between his fingers. The inscription was there, staring at Will as if pointing fingers. _Vide Cor Meum_. It was the name of the song composed by Patrick Cassidy that Hannibal carefully chose to play in the moment he proposed to Will. He could remember Hannibal's soft voice near his left ear, translating the music to him, kneeling in front of him after dinner, the music playing in the background, Hannibal extending a small opened box to Will.

Like a whisper in the air around him, Will could hear his husband's voice saying "Be my heart, Will. Marry me."

Will exhaled slowly, back into reality. He stared at the ceiling of the Norman Chapel, tears filling his eyes, blurring his sight. Will was lying on the chapel's floor, staring at the ceiling. It was a Tuesday morning and the church was almost empty. No one dared to speak with the strange man lying on the floor, thanks to the heavens.

He didn't feel Hannibal there like he thought he would. He had the latent memory, beating like his heart, all over him. He could remember all the details of being there, but the emptiness he felt betrayed the memories. The emptiness was the reality he had to be in. Somehow, he felt inadequate, as if invading someone's personal space.

As if invading Hannibal's mind palace without an invitation.

Differently from what he imagined when he decided to travel to Italy, he felt his husband's absence more strongly there than in his house in Wolf Trap. It felt like staring into an empty chair when you knew someone used to sit there all the time.

Breathing slowly, Will let himself fly away into a parallel universe, imagining how would it be like if things were different. It was easy to imagine, as if it was reality. The mind concocts all sorts of fantasies when we don't want to believe something. It's easy to construct fairytales, and to accept them.

What if no one died?

What would they be doing? On a Tuesday morning, eating breakfast, Will in a hurry to go to the FBI, Hannibal appreciating the morning by the window. Hannibal could be in his office, with a patient; Will in a car trip. They could be going together to a crime scene. They would work, together or apart, and go back to their house at night, to a good dinner, a song or a movie, to the warmth and safety of each other's arms.

Will wondered how long that would last if no one had died. A week, maybe. Or months. Years. He could easily imagine moving to France or Italy, both of them with grey hair, Will reluctant to stop chasing murders, Hannibal happy with a new job in a European museum.

Will's mind wandered. What if he had died instead of Hannibal? It could have happened. Just a simple change of position and his body would be the one receiving the bullet that night. Or it could happen in any other moment, in the dangerous chase of a criminal.

Will could even have been killed in that day they got married, walking out of the church. It could be a bullet, a car, an airplane crash, a furious murder, anything. All of the options seemed better than the one that actually happened.

Because Hannibal would be fine, after all. He was brilliant and he was good, and he deserved to live. He would suffer for losing Will, of course, maybe for the rest of his life, but he would manage to go through his grief and live.

Will knew he was sinking.

And, in fact, each passing day, he cared less about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you liked the chapter? I'm finding very nice to write those memories, you know? On the next chapters Will is going to have some flashes of memories during other activities, and I'm really enjoying how the flashes of memory comes to me when I'm writing. Tell me if you like it too! I also will try to post another chapter till the end of this week, MAYBE two if I finish the one I'm writing. Seriously this time. I'm on vacation, so I'll be here more often.  
> Another information, I'm currently writing chapter eight, which is being a very difficult one to write, so this is part of why have I been away so long. I had to make some researches and took some nice photos about my "making-off", that I'll be posting on my tumblr: http://thegreatcactus.tumblr.com . I'm thinking about often posting news about the writing process on my tumblr so you can always know how it is going. I thought about making an isolate tumblr for the fanfiction, but maybe it's too much. Let me know what you think about it okay? If this is nice or dumb, or something. K? Anyway, wanting to know how is the process of the chapter, maybe some fanarts or others I do about the fanfic, go to my tumblr and search the tag "mort vivante".
> 
> Now about the promo: (SPOILER ALERT. Kinda).  
> Assuming you watched the promo before reading this chapter, let me talk a bit about it. I'll be short. The promo shows a bit of last chapter when Alana calls Jack, it has parts of the wedding you read in this chapter, and a few things that are coming: Bedelia Du Maurier going to talk to Will, Freddie doing her job as always, and the most nice thing: Hannibal's murder is going to be revealed in chapter 8, along with his story, his motives and a very tough moment for Will, when he have to faces the man that killed Hannibal in other to prevent a new murder. (God, I'm so excited. Sorry if I look like an idiot. Please, tell me to stop if so.)
> 
> See you soon!


	7. Concerned Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will comes back from his trip to Italy, and is confronted by his friends that are worried about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Another chapter ready! Hope you like it! 
> 
> Songs:  
> Tchaikovsky - Symphony No. 5 in E minor, Op. 64 - 2nd movement  
> Gustav Mahler - Adagietto from Symphony No. 5 in C sharp minor  
> Anne Azéma - Aussi come unicorne sui

  
Will opened his house's door with a sigh. Winston came to greet him.

"Hello, Will."

His suitcase fell on the floor, his heart beating faster with the surprise.

For a lapse of second he thought it was Hannibal, even though the voice was a female's.

Will breathed heavily. "Are you trying to kill me, Alana?"

"I could ask you the same" She replied in an angry tone. Alana sat on his armchair, petting Max, who was sleeping on her lap.

Will closed the door behind him, walking slowly. "May I ask what you're doing in my house?"

"Of course." She frowned. "As long as you tell me where the hell have you been."

Will sighed. "Alana..."

"Don't 'Alana' me. You disappeared, Will! I called you a hundred times, I searched for you on the FBI and I came here and you had just vanished! I thought you..."

"What?" Will was getting annoyed. She was inside _his_  house, asking for explanations he didn't have the obligation to give.

"I got worried! Jesus Christ, I thought you had done something stupid, Will."

Will scratched his forehead. "I'm here, okay? I'm fine." _Now leave._

He picked up his suitcase and put in on his bed, starting to undo it, ignoring Alana's presence.

After a couple of minutes in silence, just watching Will put his clothes back on the wardrobe and some shirts on a pile that seemed to go to the washing machine, Alana took a deep breath and decided to speak. "What did you go to Italy for?”

Will spun on his heels. " _What?_ "

"I know you went to Italy."

"How?"

"Sometimes it's good to have friends in the FBI, you know."

Will's chin dropped. "You..."

"I asked Jack to help find you. I'm sorry that I still care about you, Will."

"Don't ever do this again. It's my privacy you're invading. I won't allow it."

"I'm sorry, but I was really worried. You could have left a message. A simple 'I'll be away for a few days' would suffice."

Will went to the kitchen and drank a cup of water. He stared to feel Alana's worry and pain and felt guilty. "I went to Palermo."

Alana raised her chin, still sitting on the armchair.

"To the church where we... Where we got married." Will said the last word with difficulty.

Alana stared the floor, her mouth in an "o" of surprise.

Will felt even worse.

Stupid empathy.

"I just... I wanted to bring that memory back. I wanted to feel..."

"Closer to him. I get it." She answered. Her worries seemed to grow bigger.

Already knowing his answer, she spoke "I think you should talk to someone, Will."

"I'm talking to you." He answered distracted, taking the pile of shirts to the laundry machine.

"No, I meant... A professional. Someone that could help you deal with this loss."

Will entered the living room with a very serious expression. "I'm not going to therapy. I'm fine."

"Maybe it would be good to talk with someone, then. To feel even better."

Will stood in front of her. "I lost my husband, Alana. Don't expect me to be dancing and singing. I'm okay."

"I just..."

"You care about me. I got it." Will's head was beginning to hurt, and he was now beyond annoyed. He just wanted to be alone.

"Will..."

"Look, I'm tired, Alana. I need to sleep a bit. Thanks for worrying about me, but I'm okay. I think you should leave now."

Alana sighed, standing and putting her bag on her shoulder. He walked her to the door. Before leaving, she put a hand on his forearm, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Please, call me if you need me. I'm still your friend. I'm here." She said with a tired tone. Deep inside she knew it wouldn't make a difference for Will. He wouldn't go for her if he needed it. She was worrying sick, and could do nothing.

"Bye, Alana." Will practically closed the door in her face.

"I need the reports on this case by Friday." Will said with a dead tone to his students – that clearly weren't paying attention, as always. He couldn't blame them. His classes were awful. They had always been awful, and they got even worse after Hannibal's death.

One by one the students left the class. Will was turning off his computer and picking his papers when someone called his name.

He raised his head to see a blonde woman, wearing a black formal skirt and a beige blouse, standing in the doorway.

"Can I help you?"

Her face seemed somehow familiar, but he couldn't remember from where he knew her, if so. She seemed too classy to belong in any place he frequented.

"You are Will Graham, right?" She asked with a soft and low tone.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes."

"I'm Bedelia Du Maurier." She introduced herself, coming closer to him.

Will waited for more information. That name was...

Wait.

He heard that name once.

A very old memory came to surface. At the very beginning of his days with Hannibal, way before they got involved, he remembered one of his sessions where he said Hannibal had a strange way of thinking.

"You should be the one in therapy, not me." Will mocked.

"Are you aware that all psychiatrists have a psychiatrist of their own?"

"Some kind of supervisor?"

"Yes."

Along with that image, he remembered a lunch he and Hannibal had once, when they began to date. Hannibal checked his watch, apologizing for having to leave. "I lost time here with you. Unfortunately I have an appointment I can't cancel."

"It's your psychiatrist?"

"Yes."

"Will I ever be introduced to her? Is her a ‘she’, after all?"

"Her name is Bedelia."

 

"You're Hannibal psychiatrist." Will whispered, surprised. She was the last person he imagined to see.

She smiled, extending her hand to salute him. "Glad to finally meet you."

Will extended his hand, confused. He gasped, imagining that she was there to know why Hannibal missed all those appointments. "You know what happened, right? That Hannibal..."

"Yes. I'm sorry I couldn't attend the funeral. I was in a plane to a conference in Sydney."

Will sighed. "Hannibal was supposed to be on this conference." He lowered his head, closing his eyes. He could sense the tears forming, the knot in his throat pressing tighter.

"It's hard to talk about him." She affirmed, with a mournful tone, as if sensing Will's pain. "He was a good friend of mine."

Will took a deep breath to recompose himself, then glared at his watch. "Look, I have a class in ten minutes, so..."

"I would try the slow approach, but as Hannibal used to say, you are more prone to objectivity."

"Yes, I am." He interrupted her.

"Alana Bloom asked me to come."

"Oh, no." Will held the corner of his table with strength, until his the tip of fingers turned white. He couldn't believe it.

"She seemed concerned." Bedelia tried to ease the situation. "Look" she picked a card in her purse, "don't consider this a therapy. If you want to talk to someone that knew him, just talk, talk about him, remember him a little, give me a call." She smiled. "If you find some conversations pleasant them we might evolve to something else."

Will picked the card and smashed it in his pocket, picking his things and heading to the door.

As sarcastic as it could be, as he left her behind and walked by the corridor to his next class, he remembered his own phrase when Alana and Jack wanted him to see Hannibal.

_Therapy doesn't work on me_.

 

Will was putting his papers and his notebook on his briefcase, ready to leave his class, wondering if he'd take the next weekend to clean his house, when he felt a presence.

Will was putting his papers and his notebook on his briefcase, ready to leave his class, wondering if he'd take the next weekend to clean his house, when he felt a presence.

Breathing heavily, he took a moment before turning to see who was it. He ran his hands through his hair, annoyed. The past few weeks had been full of visitors in the end of his classes, and, to be honest, he was getting sick of it. Almost a week had passed since Bedelia came, and he wasn't ready for another " _very concerned friend_ " to advise him to seek therapy.

When he finally turned over, he found himself genuinely surprised to see who was.

There he was, looking ten years older and more tired.

"Hello, Jack."

He cleaned his throat. Will could quickly sense his discomfort, like a thick mass hovering around them. Looking closely to a spot in Jack's neck, he could see he was sweating. "It's been a while since I last saw you." Will smiled bitterly. He didn't care, actually, that after he left the field, Jack had never appeared in his class, nor called or made himself present in any way. Will could now see that Jack was feeling too inconvenient to do any of these things, as if a simple “hello” from him would be to Will a reminder of who put him and Hannibal in crime scenes in the first place.

The thing Jack didn't know was that he wasn't a reminder of Hannibal's death more than the rest of the reality around Will. His own breath was a reminder that his husband hadn't the possibility to breathe anymore.

"I'm sorry for not being in touch, lately, I—"

"You don't have to explain yourself," Will cut him off.

"I really haven't had much time and... How was your trip to Italy?"

Will rolled his eyes, gazing his briefcase in his hand. "Please, Jack. _No_."

Jack took a deep breath and touched Will's shoulder, forcing him to make eye contact.

Will hated it. He almost could hear Jack asking "can I borrow your imagination?" again. This time he would know better to say no.

Jack swallowed before speaking, nervous. He had no damn idea how Will would react, and that made him anxious. "We caught him."

Will showed a big smile. "Oh, that's wonderful!" Then his face turned serious again. "I have no idea who you're talking about, Jack."

Jack felt sick.

"We arrested the man who murdered Hannibal."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked! What did you think about Bedelia coming to the story? She will appear in another chapters! See you next chapter, and on tumblr! (By now on my, thegreatcactus.tumblr.com I'm still thinking about doing or not a tumblr to the fiction. Opinions?)
> 
> Oh, and I made outfits for Alana and Bedelia on Polyvore. Check it here (also on tumblr):  
> Alana: http://www.polyvore.com/mort_vivante_chapter_alana_bloom/set?id=197668459  
> Bedelia: http://www.polyvore.com/mort_vivante_bedelia_chapter/set?id=197667837


	8. Fibonacci

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is face to face with the man that killed Hannibal and many other people. To save his next victims from dying, Will will have to pass beyond his loss and dive into this killer's mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm traveling so is being hard to post anything, but here comes a very long and hard to write chapter. Hope you all like!
> 
> Songs:  
> How Am I Supposed to Die - Civil Twilight  
> Brand X Music - Extortion  
> Johann Sebastian Bach, Violin Concerto in A minor, BWV 1041

Will threw up his third wave of hot vomit in the sink before turning to Jack. His mind was foggy, he could barely remember running from his class to the bathroom to another round of puking. He was sweating as a pig. Taking a deep breath, he washed his mouth and neck and faced Crawford. "I think my stomach is free of all the meals I had this week now."  
Jack squeezed his fingers in his palms. "I'm sorry. I didn't..."  
"Jack, please." Will almost begged, looking down to his - shaky - hands. They were trembling hard, so he decided to hide them in his pant's pockets to have a more serious expression.  
Yet, inside, he could feel his stomach preparing the next course of living hell in form of processed food.  
"What made you think that I want to know about this? I mean, well, good. He was arrested." Will shrugged. "So?"  
Jack sweated, nervous. "I hate having to come to you, specially on this, but..." He scratched his forehead. "This is actually more about me needing a professional favor from you than me coming to tell you the latest news."  
"Oh, no. No, no, Jack. No. I'm not going to consult or help you in any case, specially on this one. I don't even want to know what it's about" Will explained, raising his hand to stop Jack before he could speak, "because, if you tell me, then I'll empathize and I'll worry about it and I'm sorry, but that's no longer my job. No."  
"There are lives at stake, Will."  
"There are always lives at stake, God damn it! That's why you work there!" Will shouted.  
Jack took a small step back, shocked with Will's reaction. Will was pretty shocked too. Of course he knew that the lack of good sleep and food would come with a price, but he wished he could control his temper better.  
"There are _eight_  lives at risk, Will."  
"No! Now you told me." Will picked his suitcase, ready to leave. "I'm sorry, Jack, I can't."  
 _Eight_.  
Eight?  
Will paused, his investigator brain working fast. He put his suitcase on the floor again. "Those are his new victims, right? One, one, two, three, five and now eight. He's respecting the Fibonacci sequence."  
"He confessed all his murders and said that there are eight more to die until the end of this day. But he refuses to tell us where they are. He demanded to talk to you. Said that he only will tell _you_  the location of the victims." Jack sounded like he was begging. He was truly desperate.  
Will could feel bile coming up his throat again.  
"I'm sorry, I can't. I can't, Jack. You will convince him of speaking."  
"Don't you think we tried?"  
"You will figure out something. Torture him if you need to, but I can't go."  
"I don't have the luxury to give myself the time to torture him, physical or psychologically speaking. There are eight people that are going to die today. Please. I need you."  
"I can't."  
Jack sighed, using his last card. "They are kids, Will. His victims are kids under twelve years old. Eight kids."  
And there came the next wave of vomit, bending Will over on the sink.

Will hated going to that place. He shivered when Jack parked at Baltimore State Hospital For the Criminally Insane, trying to repeat to himself that this was the last time he would ever help Jack. Of course, if he didn't know himself, he'd be there only to help Jack. Knowing himself, he understood that he only decided to go there because he'd feel desperately guilty for letting eight kids die. He would feel responsible.  
He wasn't dealing well with being responsible for one death; eight k _ids_  would be more than he could bear.  
So he was there purely to ease his own future guilt. Will wondered how evil he was for that. Not being there to save the poor children, but to have his head a little lighter when he laid it on the pillow at night.  
What of course wouldn't help at all, because he knew that he would, in the end, feel guilty for coming. Even so, if he didn't go, it wasn't like he could sleep at night at all. A couple of hours per night was all he was having, three hours of sleep in a good night until nightmares or insomnia woke him up.  
Feeling terrible and mean, he left the car.  
"Are you okay, Will?" Jack asked, stopping beside him. "You look pale."  
"I'm trying not to vomit again." Will confessed.  
He stared at the big brick walls of the hospital, wondering for a moment if he could have a cell of his own. Somehow it seemed good. An ordinary bed for an ordinary sleep, ordinary food for his ordinary habits, some books and no work.  
It kind of seemed like a vacation.  
But he knew his vision was wrong. He wouldn't have a second of peace in that place. Not with Frederick Chilton coordinating the place. He would bug Will until he lost his mind - and even more after. Also, by what he knew of his visits to that place, his "neighbors" wouldn't be this quiet.  
/Look at where I got to/, Will thought. _Considering a slot here_.  
Will rolled his eyes to himself, following Jack inside.  
Chilton was waiting by his office's door. "Hello, Jack!" He waved excitedly.  
"Hi" Jack's answer had the opposite tone. Will almost laughed. Jack turned to Will. "Wait here a minute. I'll ask one of Chilton's puppies to bring him up to a chat room."   
Will waited by the door frame.  
Chilton gave Will a mocking smile, gesticulating with his fancy cane for him to enter. The only reason Will did enter was because his balance was a little off, he was afraid of vomiting again or fainting. He sat on the couch.  
"Well, well" Chilton entered his office behind Will, sitting on one of his armchairs, petting it as if it were a precious animal. "If it isn't the newest widow of the bureau!"  
Will raised his eyes from his boots, even if he was compelled not to. There was something odd with his shoelaces, which annoyed him.  
"What?"  
Chilton laughed. "You really should read the articles on[ tattlecrime.com](http://tattlecrime.com/). Freddie Lounds' comentaries about you are... Tasty."  
Half conscious of his movements, Will squeezed the couch's upholstery.  
"There is a lot of anger there, uh?"  
Will let go of the sofa, lowering his eyes back to his boots.  
He loosened his shoelaces and tied them again. And again, because he wasn't happy with the result. They seemed worse now than before.  
Nothing could fit into place anymore in his life, not even simple shoelaces. It was stupid that Will had to hold the urge to kick the boots off his feet and cry. Instead of doing so, he imagined tangling Freddie Lounds and Chilton in a giant rope and strangling them, for the snakes they both were.  
Will chose to put his hands inside his pockets before bending again to work on his boot. (Or standing up to punch Frederick).  
"You know" Chilton started, after a short minute of silence, "lately I've been working with patients that pass through a traumatic event like you did; I'm doing a... Non-orthodox treatment with prescript and experimental drugs. If you'd like to join the group, I'd be glad to introduce it to you. It has been proved quite effective with... Dealing with grief." Chilton smirked.  
Will laughed hard. "Drugs? From you?!"  
"I know Hannibal was prone to non-orthodox methods himself..."  
Will stood up, full of Frederick's shit. "Oh, no" Will said in a sarcastic and bitter tone. "No, _thank you so much_." He left the office, approaching Jack. "Can we please go?"  
Jack turned to him "Yes, please. Just put on your identification card." He said while extending it to Will.  
Will took a deep breath, staring at the very known white and blue visitor's card.  
Jack made an uncomfortable noise, exhaling loudly. "I'm sorry to bring you here, Will."  
Will looked at him. Jack looked really sour, as if he had no other choice. Maybe he hadn't; Will knew how hard it was to deal with a criminal's narcissistic wishes when there were lives on a deadline. Sometimes the easier and faster way was to do what they asked for. Even knowing this, Will hated Jack profoundly at that moment.   
"It's too late now for apologies." He murmured, while sticking the card on his blouse. He fought the urge to take off his coat, it was too hot in there. Or maybe it was just his sweating skin.  
As Jack started to walk, Will followed him. "Please, fill me in." He asked, regretting the words the second they left his mouth. He blocked all his emotions as best as he could, leaving Will Graham, the poor - how had Chilton called him? "The newest widow of the bureau"? - behind. He adjusted his posture and mind to the distant and professional Special Agent Graham.  
It felt like a terribly made mask, not fitting his face as it should.  
"His name is Murtagh Hoffman, forty four, born in Memphis, Tennessee, son of an irish man who was a drill factory worker, and a housewife german mother. And you were right about his education."  
"He's graduated in math or physics?" Will remembered his guess while he was in the case.  
"Both." Jack raised an eyebrow in a sarcastic way. "He confessed to the murder of the two homeless man in Little Rocks, Arkansas, the couple and their daughter in Jackson, Mississippi and the five college students in Atlanta, Georgia. Also told us the names of other two victims, both strangled, a man in Memphis and a woman in Tupelo, also in Mississippi, before the Little Rocks' murder. Both were killed on the first day of the month, but with some months between them."  
"What took him so long?" Will asked. "The ones we already knew happened with one month of distance from one another."  
"The man he killed in Memphis was his first. As he himself said, 'it was a mere fact of being in the right place at the right time with the right mood'. He strangled a man that was raping a young woman in an alley when he was going from the college he worked in to a supermarket. He was upset, tried to help the woman, she ran away, the rapist fought him and the only way he found to set himself free was killing the rapist using strength."  
"So it wasn't planned." Will took some time to think while they walked to the room where the criminal was in. "He was afraid he would be caught. When he wasn't, he realized the... Power he had in his hands."  
Jack frowned. "What do you mean?"  
"As I said before to you, what does the Fibonacci sequence represents? The golden ratio, the mathematical sequence of perfection, found in every truly beautiful thing in nature. If he kills obeying this sequence, he is looking for balance, harmony, perfection. Perfection in an ugly, imperfect world. He realized that when he noticed he wasn't in danger of being caught. That's why he said he was in the right place. It's like he had a 'Call' from God or whatever, to do what he does."  
Jack stared at Will for a long moment.  
"What?"  
"You basically just summed up his words in his confession."  
Will wasn't surprised. He was used to that by now, empathizing with all sorts of murderers and understanding them was a daily curse which he had to deal with. It got to him sometimes, and for that he had his psychiatrist loving husband to help at night after a long day of work in a killer's mind.  
/Had/.  
Hannibal died.  
Sometimes he had to use the full sentence in his mind to remember the fact. Even though his pain was there eating him 24/7, sometimes if felt like Hannibal was only a phone call away.  
Will took a deep breath, trying to focus back on the subject.  
"And I was right about the sequence. One man in Memphis, one woman in Tupelo, two men in Little Rocks, three people in Jackson and five in Atlanta. 1, 1, 2, 3, 5; it's Fibonacci's sequence."  
"And now eight kids." Jack reminded.  
"Which is the next number. All of them killed in the day 1, 2, 3 and five of the month." Will pointed.  
"And today is 8."  
Will took a deep breath again, trying not to think of what things that man had planned for those eight innocent kids. After strangling, throwing acid on homeless men, crucifying a stabbed couple and their daughter and leaving them to bleed to death, and asphyxiating five college students in an adapted gas chamber in a container, Will refused to wonder what the man had in mind for those kids.  
"And there is Hannibal, in the middle of number five and eight. Out of the pattern. Out of sequence. Why?"  
 _Why?_

_I...I think it's him." Hannibal said while coughing a little blood._   
_"Him who?"_   
_"Our killer. Go get him."_

_/Will? I think I'm going to die."._

Will shut his eyes tightly for a brief moment. It was hard to take the flashes from that night away from his mind, sometimes. Specially now.  
"This and the kids' location were the information he refused to give me unless I brought you to talk to him at this particular day. I also don't understand why confess. I really don't get it."  
"I have a guess, but let him say it, now that I'm already here." Will said in a mean tone.  
"I'm sorry."  
Jack stopped in front of the door to the chat room, with his hand on the doorknob. "I'm sorry, but..."  
Will interrupted him. "Go straight to the point, Jack."  
"There's one more thing." He made a pause. Will waited. "We have a big suspicion" he select his words carefully, by what Will could see. "That he... _Chose_  Dr. Lecter by hand. So he might bring in some personal subject to cloud your judgement."  
Will raised an eyebrow. "And by 'big suspicion' you're not only considering the fact that Dr. Lecter's" - Will used Hannibal's last name as Jack did, as if this could distance them, as if Hannibal was just another victim - "death doesn't follow Fibonnaci's Sequence, right?"  
Jack stiffened his facial muscles, uncomfortable. "Will."  
"Don't lie to me, Jack." Will said in his best investigator tone.  
"Let's just say he had a... _Scrapbook_."  
Will raised his eyes to met Jack's, the bile coming up his throat again. "A scrapbook. Of Hannibal's life."  
Will coughed, inhaling deeply to block the acid wave that was pushing its way up.  
"And yours." Jack confessed in a low tone. "I'm sorry."  
Will shut his eyes tightly, trying not to think about a murderer with a hobby of collecting facts from his and his husband's life. He failed. After a long moment he stabilized his breathing again and considered his nausea under enough control.  
"Can we?" Jack asked, still with his hand resting on the doorknob. Jack's skin seemed a little greenish. He felt like vomiting too as Will nodded and he opened the door.  
Will wasn't surprised when he saw the killer. His physical appearance was pretty much what he had imagined. The man sitting before the grey metal table was tall, his skin very pale, almost as if he were albino, except from his very pink prominent cheekbones, as any scandinavian or german would be. He had very tough and square features, framed by light and thin yellow hair that almost seemed white, big nose, ears, very sharp forehead and chin, blue eyes. He smiled, showing a row of straight white teeth. His face could be one of an angel, a priest, a very respected scientist or a serial killer. Those were the hardest to get; as a chameleon, being even more attractive than the average, he could fit anywhere, play any role and pass by unnoticed.  
"William!"  
The man's way of calling him hit Will in the guts.

" _William, don't be silly._ "  
 _"Don't call me William, Hannibal, you know how much I don't like to be called that way. And yes, I need to hear it. You have to say it."_  
 _"It isn't enough to have all my moves to show my feelings about you?" Hannibal asked, cutting the meat on his counter, for dinner._  
 _"They're great, but I'm human, I need you to say it."_  
 _Hannibal rolled his eyes. "I love you, silly William."_  
 _Will blushed, half annoyed by being called in that way he disliked, half because it was the first time the older man said those words._  
 _Hannibal approached him, their eyes meeting. "I love you, Will Graham."_

Will blinked fast, shaking his head to bring himself back to reality. His chest ached, his pain awake and biting hard. He couldn't think of a way of feeling worse than that.  
"I brought him here, now give me the names, Hoffmann." Jack ordered, nervous. Will stood by his side, waiting. He knew that Jack's approach wouldn't work.  
The man shook his head. "Oh, Jack, come on. This is not how it works." He had a foreign accent, a tint of germanic. "Right, Will?" He gesticulated to the chair in front of him. "Please, have a seat. We have _a lot_  to talk about."  
Will took a deep breath, noticing that it wouldn't be a quick visit. He sat down.  
"I want the kids' names first, Murtagh." Jack insisted. "And their location. Or no conversation."  
With a smirk, Murtagh gave Will a quick glance, as if they were paws for a long, long time. Will felt sicker.   
"Let's make a deal, Jack." He offered, with all the peace in the world. "Give me a paper and a pen. From time to time, if this conversation goes well" another glance in Will's direction "I'll put a name on the list. If you find them before the list ends, congratulations. If not, you will have to wait untill I'm done discussing with our friend here to have their location." He made a pause, smiling as a proud infant after climbing a countertop to pick the cookies jar and succeeding. "It's this or nothing. How will it be?"  
Will stared at Jack, trying to make him read his mind. j _ust do what he wants and let's get over with it_.  
Jack huffed, ceding. "I'll ask for a pen and a paper. They'll be with Will all the time. You want the paper, you ask."  
"Guessing you will want to join us too, bring up a chair." His smile seemed to grow bigger by the second. "We have _plenty_  of time."  
As Jack left, Will raised his head to stare the man.  
"I'm so glad you could come, Will."  
"I was actually forced to" Will murmured back. There was some kind of comfort in telling him the truth. Maybe it was that part of Will's mind that had such strong empathy. Will faked a smile. "What do you want to talk about?"  
"I'm assuming you have a lot of questions for me."  
Will bit his lower lip hard, stopping the one question he had in mind - actually, had at the tip of his tongue - from coming out.  
"No. I don't, actually."  
Murtagh smiled again, knowing Will was lying.  
"Why did you come, then?"  
"To ease myself of future guilt. For denying help on saving innocent children."  
"You know, guilt is a very stupid feeling. I felt guilty when I murdered that man in Memphis. Jack told you about my first victim, right?"  
Will nodded.  
"Good. I felt guilty, oh, _so_  guilty." He laughed. "It's quite funny, because that man was raping a woman. He wasn't good."  
"You were just afraid of being caught."  
"Not exactly. I felt bad for killing that man. You know, I grew up in a very religious family. Killing someone was... Not good. But when I took my time to think about it and set myself free from the ties of my education... The scales fell from my eyes and I could finally see. I hadn't committed a sin. Everything on that night, without my knowledge, drove me to that moment. Everything was settled, in its place. I had gloves because it was cold. The night was foggy, so the woman never saw my face. Everything so... Easy. It got me thinking why I was so lucky. Then I realized it was like it was meant to be. I was meant to be there at that exact moment and time."  
"Like a call from God?"  
He raised his shoulders. "Perhaps. God works through mysterious ways. You know, life is a series of phases. A time to be born, and a time to die. A time to plant, and a time to uproot. And in that moment I realized there is also..."  
"A time to kill." Will completed for him. He remembered one his first sessions with Hannibal. " _Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in his image_?"  
The man smiled proudly. "After a long time hiding in the shadows of my guilt and fear, I realized that what I did was good. It was one less rapist out there. The world had just became less ugly and filthy."  
 _Another one with a Robin Hood complex. Great_.  
"I know what you are thinking. I have the Robin Hood complex. I kind of had, at the beginning. Because I was just starting to understand the meanings and possibilities of my work."  
Jack entered, putting a sheet and a pen in front of Will. Quietly, he sat down.  
"Nothing new to you until now, Jack, don't worry. You didn't miss anything."  
Jack answered in a annoyed tone. "Thank you."  
"This was what first drove me to begin my work. I saw a world outside my window that was unbalanced, disharmonious, ugly, asymmetrical, filthy... _Wrong._  So I chose as my guidance tool the Fibonacci sequence. "  
"The mathematic sequence of perfection." Will pointed.  
Murtagh nodded. "Yes. My next victim was a whore. I was more aware of what I was doing then. Yet, when I saw a very mistaken profile of my acts in a local newspaper, I realized those simple, _ordinary_  murders were not enough."  
Jack frowned. "Why?"  
Murtagh smiled to him. "Humor me with an answer, Will. You might get the first name of the list if you get it right."  
Will didn't have to think. That was easily floating in the empathy between then. "It wasn't enough because you weren't changing anything. Killing a single person teached no one a lesson. The one rapist you took away could be replaced by three others on the next week. You had to do more. To go public. To show people that the world is... Messed up. You needed to make people aware of their own ugliness. The victims had to be seen, to teach the alive."  
"Hand me the paper, please." Murtagh asked.  
As Will passed the paper and the pen to him, he felt like a puppy receiving a treat after catching a ball and bringing it back to his owner.  
The man wrote fast and decidedly, handing Will the paper back. Jack rose his head above Will's shoulder to read the name. Tanya Devi, 7.  
Will stared at that name for a while, trying without success to not imagine that poor girl, scared and lonely at some rough place.  
Jack left the room quickly without a word.  
"This is why you handed the homeless man you burned with acid in front of a journal building. It was a very fast way of sending quick information to thousands of people." Will continued.  
"They were plagues. Trumps and lazy ones that refused to find jobs and build a respectful life for themselves. But differently from the other two, they were randomly chosen. I had thought about homeless man, but didn't search for them specifically. Because I had noticed that human beings can only be of two types: ordinary humans, which are the majority, and those who have the capacity to think above their condition of ordinary people and do something about it."  
Will didn't have to ask in which group Murtagh considered himself to be. Until that moment, he had correctly profiled the man.  
"You might have considered using the internet to spread your words." Will pointed ironically.  
"Through my way I got to be read in newspaper _and_  in the internet, just as in the local television's news." He blinked smugly.  
"My next subject of... Lesson, let's call it that way, was our modern way of valuing family. Ugly, very ugly. I found my perfect example in Jackson, Mississippi. A very beautiful family, on the outside. An ungrateful, disturbed and disorganized family I met in the same church I chose to frequent when I moved to the town. Differently from what most tabloids said later, I don't have a problem with homosexual couples and families. It's the opposite. Some gay couples I met on the cities I've been to made the best parents a child could need. This is why I chose that family. The man and the woman didn't know how to take care of each other, or of their daughter. They forgot to be grateful. Forgot about how wonderful it is to have your family near you. Forgot about love. Don't you think so?"  
Will smiled sarcastically. "Actually, no. My mother left me and my father when I was very little" he told. Jack entered and sat again. "and I hadn't a good relationship with my father since."  
"This is why we have a second chance in life. We can chose the people we will build a family with. You chose yours."  
Will lowered his eyes, the pain in his chest stopping him from expressing a reaction. In the back of his mind, he saw Hannibal reading inside the house he built for the dogs.  
Will had a family.  
"You took it from me." He said before he could held himself.  
Murtagh's smile didn't diminish. "We will get there. The paper, please." As Will gave him the sheet, he continued while writing. "Two days before teaching them what God taught us about family values - that's why I hung them in crosses inside our church - I discovered the FBI had taken the lead on the homeless's case." He handed the paper back. Two names came this time: Juan Perez and Paige Brady, both 6 years old. Jack left again to investigate the names. "And while I watched in the safety of my room the five college students asphyxiate in my gas chamber, I went searching in the internet more about the investigations. There was when I found about you, on a[ tattlecrime.com](http://tattlecrime.com/)article linking both murders of the homeless man and the family, for the first time. What got to me was that finally someone had noticed the sequence of the number of victims and the death days. You. You found out about the Fibonacci sequence. At least that was what that annoying writer wrote, Fre... How was her name, actually?"  
"Freddie Lounds." Jack answered as coming back.  
"Thank you, Jack."  
Will turned to face Jack, hoping that he could finally leave, but he shook his head. "Not yet."  
"Relax, Jack" Said Murtagh. "There is still a lot to be discussed about."  
"Yeah, I'm seeing that" he answered, pretty annoyed. Will noticed deep eye circles under Jack's eyes.  
"I actually did not like the way that woman described me, but I noticed her rude way of speaking while I read through her articles. But I was interested in finding more about the two men that noticed my sequence, as she described them in her article as 'cleverly pointed out by our well known Special - disturbed - agent Will Graham and his partner in bed and in crime, Hannibal Lecter.'" Hearing Hannibal's name in his mouth made Will's heart race. "Yes, I memorized it. I got pretty surprised by her audacious tone."  
"Yes, that's Freddie" said Will, tired. He rested his chin on his hand, closing his eyes for a moment.  
Jack touched his shoulder gently. "Are you okay?"  
"Yes, yes." He opened his eyes. "I'm just tired. Haven't slept much these days."  
Murtagh sympathized with him. "Jack, don't we have something for our friend, Will? A cup of coffee or some tea... Maybe some donuts?"  
"I'm fine." Will repeated.  
"You can take a break if you like, okay Will?" Murtagh offered. "Don't feel pushed."  
 _How kind of you_ , Will thought.  
"Let's continue."  
"I was there, you know, when you guys found the container with the students. Sitting in a small coffee shop nearby. Saw you coming. I wished I could've seen your face when you found the spiral and the smiley face carved in one of the victim's skins. I admit it was childish, but I was so happy to be understood."  
"My pleasure." Will spoke with no emotion in his tone, clutching the back of his neck a few times, the muscles tense and hurting.  
"Well" he made a pause. "Now it's time for one of your questions, Will."  
"I said I have no questions." Will lied, pressing his lips together again.  
"Then why do you bite your lips as if stopping the words from jumping out of your mouth?"  
Will pressed his neck again, saying nothing.  
"Come on, Will. A name in exchange of your honesty?"  
Will was getting annoyed of being there hearing the same shit they all said all the time.  
"The name first." Will handed him the paper, his expression serious.  
Murtagh obeyed. Once more Jack left to try to find this new kid: Jacob Todd, 8.  
Will took a deep breath.  
"Why did you surrender?"   
"Imagine if Da Vinci never showed his work?" He replied.  
They both heard Jack's intolerant laughter while he was passing by the door.  
"I see. You did a good amount of your work, and now it's time to sign your name under it." Will sighed. "Makes sense. Besides, as the sequence goes higher, it gets harder to kill. Maybe thirteen, the next number would be more or less okay to do, but then..."  
"Clever."  
"Won't you miss doing your work? Now that you are here? I will warn you, Frederick Chilton is a huge pain in the ass."  
Murtagh laughed. "Oh, I noticed that." He closed his eyes for an instant, stretching his back and taking a good, deep breath. He seemed at such peace that Will for a moment envied him.  
He opened his eyes. "Another question, please. I'm really enjoying this."  
"How can I find where the kids are?" Will asked, avoiding the true question underneath his lips.  
"You already know. You're just not paying enough attention to the information you already have."  
Will scratched his eyebrows, wondering if he could just give up and go home. "Can you enlighten me?"  
"Nothing in this world is random, Will. If you look at an insignificant leaf, you will find the Fibonacci spiral in it. This isn't random. The moment I started to kill wasn't. Hannibal's death wasn't. Think."  
Will froze with the mention of Hannibal's death, the monster of pain waking up again inside of him.  
"Help me out." He asked, almost pleading. He just wanted to leave. Please.  
Murtagh gesticulated to the paper. He wrote another name on it. Hannah Attah, 4.  
Will read the kids' names, trying to find a connection. It wasn't their ages. He stared at the paper for so long that he words melt into a blurred stain.  
"Use your _t_ _ools_ , Will."  
Jack entered again. Will looked up at him, hopeless. "We found some reports of missing kids with those names, all apparently kidnapped on day five."  
"How do you chose the cities?"  
"I won't answer to something you already know, Will."  
"I do not know!" He shouted, punching the table.  
"Don't be angry, Will. Breathe."  
Will was about to stand up and leave. He felt his head heavy, aching like hell.  
"I know it has something to do with the sequence, but I don't know how." Will confessed. "It's not how far the cities are from each other, it doesn't correspond to Fibonacci's.  
"Jack, why don't you try this new name I just put in here." The killer pointed to the paper. "Try also John Stanley, 6 years old."  
Jack bended to write himself the last name on the paper and left.  
Will frowned. "Why did you send him away?"  
"Because you wouldn't ask what you want to ask in front of Jack. You are uncomfortable with asking it in front of me. Ask, Will. I won't answer unless you ask me, and this is going to be your only opportunity to know the truth. I promise I will be completely honest about it. But only today, only now. Don't punish yourself even more by refusing to know. It will eat you alive. _Ask_."  
The words almost jumped out of Will's mouth. "Why Hannibal? Why did you kill Hannibal?"  
Murtagh closed his eyes, listening to the growing despair in Will's voice. "Very good. You are a very good boy, William."  
"Why him?" Will asked again, unable to close his mouth now. "Why did you kill my husband? What does he has to do with all of that? Why'd you skip your pattern to murder him?"  
"You see, I became very fond of learning more about the crew that was taking care of my cases. This is how I learned about you, Jack, Hannibal. But you two in particular got my attention. Because you understood me. I found two man among many that were far from ordinary." He made a pause, wetting his lips, a lopsided smile coming slowly as if he had just remembered something funny. "I did quite a lot of research on both of you. And the more I knew, more I wanted to know. I followed your paths. I knew your daily activities. I slowly got to know basically all of your habits. Oh, and how I loved watching you and Hannibal together. You two just melt my stone cold heart! Almost made me believe in love again."  
Will felt the nausea coming up his throat again.  
"You were stalking us, I know. Because you were curious. This doesn't explain..."  
"I'm getting there. As I begun to know you guys better, I realized what was unbalanced, hidden between the sheets of a good relationship. The more I noticed what was wrong, the less I could bring myself to do nothing about it. So I found a way of teaching us all, the three of us, so we could... evolve."  
Will frowned, very confused. "I don't think I understand."  
"Do you remember what I said about the two kinds of people that exist in the world?"   
Will nodded, his head throbbing.  
"I came to realize that you and Hannibal had a strange non-spoken deal about what roles you played. You seemed to be so comfortable being the ordinary one, while he was the special, eloquent and observant. You chose to let his light shine over you, cover you with it, smash you underneath it, until you became merely normal. You'd hide under his wings so that you didn't have to worry about yourself." He paused again. Will was having a hard time following the conversation. "Will, this is so wrong." Murtagh moved his hands in a teatrical way. "It's almost like a deadly sin. You pushed your brilliancy towards Hannibal's shoulders so that you wouldn't have to worry about the weight of acknowledging it. /Why/?"  
Will took a deep breath. He was beginning to lose his temper. It was like the man in front of him would keep talking forever without going anywhere, rolling and rolling around his empty speech. Will was /so/ tired.  
"I fight... Everyday. To be normal. Mundane. Common. Ordinary." Will shrugged. "Whatever you call it. So yes, your point of view is very accurate. I hid under Hannibal's wisdom and care so I could be normal. And why? Well, why would someone like to live with this? Feeling everything, understanding everyone... I'm a dreamcatcher for all the bad things. I absorb them. /All/ of them. It's like daily watching your arm raise to drop poison in your own mouth and not be able to do anything about it. It corrodes you inside, takes away your sense of reality, of who you are... Why would anyone want such pain, daily destroying you? In exchange for what? Being more observant?" Will was raising his voice word by word, speaking each one faster than the other. He had never really spoken about his daily struggle with his empathy and mind in that way with anyone but Hannibal, and there was a part of his brain whispering for him to please, stop talking, but he couldn't find the button to press "stop", so he went on. "What for? You said it yourself, the world is a filthy place. To be more intelligent? Well, smart those who say that ignorance is a bliss! Now what the hell this has to do with Hannibal's death? Why did you kill him?!" He shouted.  
Murtagh only waited, watching while Will's skin became pinker, then back to normal as he regained control over his breath. Then, suddenly, Will froze, shutting his eyes while a thought crossed his mind.  
Will tried to deny the thought molding in his head, because it would be too ridiculous, but yet he formulated the question in his mouth, speaking slowly, almost as a whisper. "You killed Hannibal because... Because he was... _Ordinary_?"  
Murtagh's smiled disappeared, as if he were disappointed. "No. I killed him because _you_  aren't."   
"/What?/"  
"You know, Will, when we pass through an important event, specially a trauma, it changes the way we think. We reflect about everything, about the meaning of our own lives. The knowledge of death is one of these moments that change our perspective. I used Hannibal's death as a trigger for you to have the possibility of see who you really are, and who you can be."  
Will stared with blank eyes, his mind racing. He had no idea of how to respond to that level of absurdity.  
Jack came back, nervous. "You better not be giving me fake names or I'll make sure your stay here becomes as much as a hell as I can provide, Murtagh."  
"Jack, Jack." He laughed, raising his hand to the paper. "May I?"  
Murtagh wrote another name on the paper and gave it to Jack. Will barely saw the paper passing near his shoulder, he was distant, absorbed in his bubble of confusion and lack of understanding.  
"Jack, gives us some privacy, please." Murtagh asked with a serious face.  
Jack raised an eyebrow. "You do realize all you're saying is being recorded, right?"  
Murtagh smiled again. "Yes, Jack, this is why you won't miss a single thing, so..." He gesticulated to the door.  
Jack considered for a moment punching that son-of-a-bitch's face just to restore the order, but he knew that it wouldn't help with anything. He was wasting his time. He left, glancing with the corner of his eyes at Will, frozen in his chair in the same position since the moment Jack walked in, his eyes distant. Jack knew that position very well. Will was hiding inside of himself like a crab in his shell, so that he could block the outside world and deal with the newest mess inside his brain. He seemed fragile and vulnerable, making the older man feel very guilty. Somehow it was like giving away his own son - the one he and Bella never had - to be tortured.  
"Will?" Murtagh called after a minute of silence. Will's mind was spinning so fast that it took him some time to realize he was being called. He raised his head, focusing. He just stared at the man's eyes for a little while. It was self-harm, he knew, but somehow he expected with that gesture to find something in the man's eyes that would clarify why he decided to destroy Will's life. Yet, he saw nothing but darkness, a blue sea of cold, deep waters calling from its depths as evil itself, calling with a sweet, childish voice, to drag you down deep into its own darkness and trap you there until you could no longer breathe, like a spider web. In those eyes, Will felt like drowning. He could almost sense the salty water in his throat, filling his lungs. Even knowing he wasn't drowning, he coughed a couple of times, while trying to break eye contact.  
Will took a deep breath, trying to regain as much as control as he could.  
"Go on." He said with a dead tone. Drown in one's madness can awaken your own, exhausting the sanity out of you until you sink.  
"Look, the thing was that Hannibal knew he wasn't ordinary. He had this acknowledged and took advantage of it. You, on the other hand, drove so deep into your alienation to be normal that you started to believe in it as the truth. You have to take the folds from your eyes, Will. You can evolve too. I did, when I killed Hannibal."  
"How did you evolve?"  
"To evolve, I had to give a step back, and acknowledge who I was, and who I planned to be. It was necessary to go back to the original state, feel it, learn from it with the skills I now have to pursue a better version of myself. I had to be human. I had to make at least one thing out of what was planned for my own lesson. Otherwise I wouldn't reach this state of balance. I gave myself space to be a little ordinary. Me, being a little ordinary, Hannibal becoming a little ordinary in his 'normal' death, gave us the possibility to give /you/ the space and oportunity to see you are not ordinary either." He smiled proudly, as if he was giving Will a gift, the best gift of the entire world, a blessing. He was the angel of God among humans, and Will was the one chosen to receive his grace.  
And the grace, apparently, was to have his eyes wide open and sharpened against his will to the knowledge that he was utterly broken and alone in this world.  
The /gift/ was to watch life slip from his husband and be powerless to do something besides calling an ambulance that would never get there fast enough.  
Something started to boil and burn inside of Will.  
He opened his mouth but no words came out of it.  
Will laughed. "'Normal death'" he quoted. "I understand that for your patterns of burning, stabbing, and crucifying people to die, getting shot is a very normal, boring even, way to die. But do you realize that this only is real in _your_  twisted mind?" Will's voice begun to raise again, his heart beating fast, the burning thing inside him getting bigger. "A normal death is to grow old and die while you sleep. It's discovering you have an untreatable illness. A car accident became normal these days, but not _t_ _his_. This is not normal. Having your husband coughing blood in your blouse between lapses of consciousness, biting his lips so he wouldn't scream from the pain he is in just to avoid scaring you even more, _t_ _his is not normal_!"  
"Oh, Will. If you think beyond your pain, you will understand how merciful I was. He was also planned. The minimum needed for your lesson and rising. I gave you both the time to enjoy the trip, I could've killed him in Denver or before. I knew where he was going to take you before you knew. I studied where I would be. I shot him in a precise place. He was certainly going to die, so no chances of living and suffering. He was going to die quickly, so he wouldn't suffer too much, but not so fast, so that you could have a chance to say goodbye. I could've shot him in the head; he would be dead before hitting the floor. But I gave you your goodbye. You should thank me."  
Will's body begun to tremble, from his hands to arms and chest, spreading down his spine. His blood was boiling in his veins.  
" _I should thank you?_ What kind of idiot are you? You think you gave me a _gift_?! You killed my husband! You took my life from me! And I should _thank you_?!"  
Will couldn't breathe. His entire body shaked, all he was seeing was a red blur with sarcastic blue smiling eyes in the middle.

 

In one moment, there were just two men with a table between them. In one moment, the room was just that: two men, chairs, a table.  But in the next, there were no men anymore. In the following moment, the men were gone. There in that room was a wounded animal posing itself for attacking his prey, in its most natural instinct of survival, and the prey, provoking. The wounded animal only wanted to protect himself and the ones he loved, but he'd noticed he was all alone. The prey laughed, showing his pose of victory. The animal was now determinated to follow by his own primal instinct of seeking revenge.

There were no men in that room. There was the animal, his prey, and no table.  
In that moment, there was no Will.  
And as if there was no table, he moved forward towards his prey, a primal roar and guttural scream coming from the depths of his lungs where it was perched for a long, long time.

The wounded animal attacked.  
His claws dig deep into the prey's skin, and he saw fresh blood. The smell just made him hunger, vicious. Will hit him again, scratching, punching, pulling the man's face all at once.  
And he did it again.  
And again.  
And again.  
The prey's first reaction was to do nothing. When he realized he was truly being attacked, he fought back.  
Will was so immersed into his fury that he didn't feel the piercing pain of his nose being broken, nor the blood spilling down his chin.  
All he could see was a blur of red in front of him.  
Then, the prey begun to laugh.  
"Congratulations, Will" It laughed. "You are finally acknowledging your own capabilities. You have now  _evolved_."  
Will heard the noise of broken teeth when he punched Murtagh in the mouth, but he didn't felt the pain on his forefingers.  
He kept hearing the laugh, though.  
And he _had_ to make it _stop_.  
So he kept attacking, over and over again.  
He had to _squeeze_  that away.  
Will screamed and punched and tasted blood and saw red and screamed some more, but the laugher kept on and on and it drove him insane.  
The rage blinded Will so deeply that he didn't even notice when arms held him and took him away. He kept fighting, punching the air.

 

 

The next moment of consciousness Will had, someone was pushing a needle in his forearm. He fought against it. "Let me go!"  
"Shh, Will."  
The voice seemed to belong to someone Will knew, but his mind was sliping away, his vision even blurred.  
"Jack?" Will spoke in a drawl.  
"I'm here, Will." Another voice came from the opposite direction.  
"Let me... I'm so... What is happening?"  
"It's Chilton here, Will." The voice next to him said. "I'm injecting a tranquilizer in your arm to help you get calm."  
"I don't... I don't need it..." Will mumbled.  
" _Shh, Will. Sleep._ "  
Will closed his heavy eyelids, unable to do otherwise, and drifted away to a land of peaceful, quiet dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone liked! In case you want to know the face I imagined for Murtagh, is the actor Neal Mcdonough in Arrow's character Damien Darhk. I hope that by next chapter I will have some nice news that I'm working on by now. Have a great night/day!


	9. Hypnosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds himself in need of help from someone that knew Hannibal as much as he did, so he pays Bedelia a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a big ***hole, I know. I'm always apologizing for taking long times to post but I will try to make it better. But, today I have a surprise!!! I made a tumblr for this fanfiction, it is: mortvivante.tumblr.com and it will have a lot of posts, photo/gif edits, my researches to write the chapters, infos about the new chapters and a lot else. Do take a time to navigate the pages: a playlist page where you can listen to the songs of the chapters, the characters page, the chapters page, the tags, about, etc. (it took me almost two months to do the whole website but I loved it so I hope you do to. I am now posting things about chapter 6 but til the end of the week I hope to be posting about this chapter and the next ones.) so, go take a look! I will make questions there too, but anything deeply important will also be here, so no one will miss anything. Hope you enjoy today's chapter! ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Songs:  
> String Quartet No. 6 - Variations on Pachelbel's Canon in D (I need to add this one to the site)  
> Ghost Song - Max Ablitzer  
> Carry You Home - James Blunt

Will opened his eyes slowly, stretching. He faced the ceiling of his house. Something seemed wrong. Sitting in bed, he looked around. Yes, he was in his house. Everything seemed normal, yet he felt like something was out of place. Buster jumped on the bed to greet him. 

"Hi buddy." Will's voice was hoarse, his throat dry as if he’d been sleeping for days. Looking at the window, he couldn't guess what time of the day it was. It was a sunny day. The light was harder than if it was early morning, but still high, so it wasn't so late in the afternoon. In a mechanic gesture, Will turned to where his table clock used to be to see the hour. Instead of the clock, there was an empty space.  
Will broke the clock in one of his rage crisis, when he couldn't sleep and the clock seemed to stare at him and mock him for it.  
He stood up, heading to the kitchen to drink something and solve the dry throat, and stopped by the doorway, staring at a strange brown package he didn't remembered putting there. He leaned closer and saw it was above a piece of paper. Picking it, he recognized Jack's handwriting.  
  
_Will,  
I wanted to make sure you got home safely, so in case you do not remember, I brought you here. Don't worry, the children are all safe. When you left, Murtagh did what he promised and told me where he hid the kids. His system for choosing cities was to put a Fibonacci spiral upon a map of the United States. He is now under the "care" of Frederick Chilton. Again, I'm sorry to put you in this situation. It won't happen again.  
I bought you food, it's in the refrigerator. In this package there’s some medicine that you might need. Also, I saw you were getting out of dog food, so I bought some too.  
You need to eat, Will. Take care of yourself. If you need anything, you know where and how to find me. I care a lot about you, in case it's not already clear. You are a good friend and I'm terrible sorry for the pain I put you throught.  
                                                                           - Jack_

Will stared at the paper for a long time, breathing slowly as the memory raised to the surface. He felt guilt on that paper. A long, deep, sharpening-edge guilt, like those that put you down on the ground and make you unable to perform any activity. It took his breathe away. The paper slipped from his fingers to the floor and Will closed his eyes, trying to flush away Jack's feelings. _Just breathe. In and out. Slowly. In... Out._

When he regained enough strength to move again, he headed to the refrigerator and opened it's door, taking a quick look on what food Jack bought. Small plastic supermarket boxes were put side by side; their contents appearing to be a portion of rice, roast chicken, roast potatoes and the last box had tomatoes and lettuce salad. It was enough food for two or three days in Will’s old habits. Now, it would last for more than a week, at least.

He closed the refrigerator's door with a sigh and collected the brown package, heading to the bathroom. In what was left unbroken of his mirror, he saw his face: one black eye, swollen nose, red and pink scratches and bruises on his forehead, cheeks and neck. Near his collarbone he had a red mark that seemed a lot like a bite. Will touched it gently with his fingertips, tightening his eyes with the pain. The skin was sore. It was kind of depressing, the fact that the first thing Will thought while looking at that bite was how ungracious it seemed. Of course the situation was different, but Hannibal's bites were always elegant, somehow made with precisely perfection - which didn’t mean they were gentle, on the contrary, Hannibal had a particular taste for Will's skin and blood.

  
_Hann..._ Will thought, with closed eyelids, imagining Hannibal was there, next to him, ready to take care of his bruises. Opening his eyes, he saw the truth: he was alone.

  
Will moved back to the kitchen for his daily dose of whiskey after putting the package on the cupboard under the sink. He was deeply aware of how much he had been drinking lately, but the fact was, he couldn't care less. He had one or two fingers a couple of times after waking up - assuming he had slept some - two or three glasses during the day and some more by night, sometimes - and by sometimes, it reads almost every day - an entire bottle. Drinking was good. It helped his mind to slip away from his dark thoughts, feeling numb, avoiding the knowledge of pain. While filling his first glass of the day - even though he had a headache - he had a glimpse of memory of watching his father when he was little. Will remembered seeing him start to drink early in the morning, moving through the house like a ghost, that miserable look always stamped on his eyes.

  
Will had the same look now. Actually, _miserable_ was a very accurate word to describe his current state. Will was a wreck, every breathe harder to take than the last, every time more pointless. The only good reason he could come up with for not ending his life was that it was too exhausting to plan which methods to use. He was so tired of everything.  
In his slow pace to the living room, Chilton's voice popped up in his mind. " _If is not the newest widow of the bureau!_ " Will snorted, sitting in front of his work table and turning his laptop on. While it was starting, he calmly sipped his whiskey.

  
Will had no idea what he was doing when he entered Freddie Lounds website and searched for his name on the search bar, but the amount of posts surprised him. She had pages and pages of what seemed a weekly habit of posting about Will. He opened a few articles to see how far she went.

  
Very far, apparently. She had a collection of photos of Will seated in front of Hannibal's thumbstone, crying. Will with his head and shoulders downcast, walking to work. Will in the funeral. Will's _house_!

  
He couldn't say which was more pathetic, the woman stalking his life or the man in all those pictures. It was depressing.

  
Suddenly, a wave of anger took over Will's body, raising up his spine. He threw his glass on the wall with a scream that left him breathless. He gazed at the spot on the wall where the whiskey left a stain, brown liquid dropping slowly to the floor. The dogs raised their heads with shock; Buster left the kitchen and entered the room, ruffing, curious to see what had happened.

  
Will's breath was short and curt, his pupils dilated. He had no idea why he’d done that. _Why he’d done that?_ It seemed that emotions took control over him too fast and too suddenly, making him shocked at himself. He gasped for air, and started to weep.

  
"No!" Will punched the table. "I'm sick of crying!" He shouted, having the opposite response, his vision blurring as the tears started to come down his cheek. _Stop crying! Stop crying, you idiot! "Damn!"_ Will yelled again, lowering his forehead on the table. _Idiot, idiot, idiot!_ He hit his head on the wooden table with strength, groaning with the pain. Then he repeated it. Hit, hit, hit, stronger and faster, and he did not stop when he sensed fresh blood. "Fuck!" _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ "No, no, no." He whispered, his forehead still meeting the wooden surface wet with his blood.

  
Tightening his eyes as hard as possible, Will groaned in pain. "Hann..." He took a deep breathe and tried to remember what to do to calm himself down. He remembered a time when we was having a bad anxiety attack and called Hannibal for help. Hannibal was busy with something and told Will to picture him there beside him, helping him to breathe, while Hannibal was - as fast as possible - going on the rescue.

  
Will did that now. His imagination was easily driven to create mental pictures.

  
"Breathe slowly, Will."

  
Will sobbed, his imagination creating Hannibal's voice perfectly. He inhaled and exhaled a couple of times with closed eyelids. When he felt lighter, his breathe back into normal, he raised his head.

  
And there he was, standing in all his glory in front of Will. It was funny to notice Will's imagination made Hannibal wearing Will's favorite suit, a dark turquoise with brown buttons on the blazer. The imaginary Hannibal smiled gently. "You cut your eyebrow."

  
Will touched his left eyebrow, touching a wet open cut and stared at his red fingertips. Then he raised his eyes to face Hannibal. A glimpse of light coming from the front window passed by the side of his face.

  
Will frowned. "There is something wrong with your hair." He commented, holding back the urge to run to Hannibal's arms because that would be too ridiculous. He knew he was just a part of his imagination, projected on the real spectrum.

  
“No, there isn’t.” Hannibal replied.

  
“Yes, there _is_. I know your hair.”

  
Hannibal spoke with a smirk. “Tell me what’s wrong, then.”

  
Will stopped, staring at the man’s straight hair. He _knew_ something was wrong. It seemed darker, maybe? Or… Brighter? It just wasn’t Hannibal’s hair, but… “I don’t… Know. I don’t know what is wrong.”

  
Imagined Hannibal frowned, the corner of his lips still up in his mocking but gentle smile.

  
What was different?

  
“I don’t-” Will started to repeat, but was interrupted by his mind with a cold wave of realization. “I don’t know how your hair _is_.”

  
_No._

  
His breath became irregular. _It can’t be._

  
_No._

  
Will’s lips trembled when he spoke again. “I don’t _remember_ your hair. I don’t remember anymore how your hair is!” He panicked.

  
“Will, it’s ok. It’s just hair.”

  
“No!” Will yelled, his body starting to shake. No. “Don’t you understand?! I’m beginning to forget you.”

  
No.

  
How was Hannibal’s hair like?!

  
“I-I must have a photo somewhere” he walked fast around the room, looking at the bookshelf and above his table. The imaginary Hannibal vanished now that Will wasn’t focusing. “I know I have a photo, damn it, it will help me remember your hair.” _Shit, where is it?!_

_  
Did I leave it in the house?_

  
Will had a glimpse of an idea, almost running to the gigantic pile of dirty clothes he had to wash. He thought a photo might be in one of his jeans pockets. He had an idea it might be there, so he begun to pick all the pants and search furiously into their pockets, throwing coupons and used kleenex on the floor.

  
“I won’t let this happen, _I won’t._ ”

  
_I’m not forgetting you._

  
By the fifth jeans he searched, feeling like a thousand had passed by his hands, he touched a paper that seemed similar to the one he was looking for. Desperately he threw the jeans away, pushing the paper up. It was a rumpled card that read ‘Bedelia Du Maurier - Psychotherapist and psychiatrist’ in printed letters.

  
_Damn it!_

  
Will threw the card on the floor too, going back to his photo hunt.

  
“ _If you want to talk to someone that knew him,_ ” Bedelia’s words came to the surface of his mind. “ _just talk, talk about him, remember him a little, give me a call._ ”

  
Will stopped what he was doing, the last jeans pants slipping to the floor. _Oh_.

  
He considered the idea for a moment - and how bad, truly he did not wanted to talk with that woman, but at the moment, lacking oxygen in his brain, his lungs aching and the blood on his eyebrow finally beginning to stanch, Will laid in pure desperation. He collected the card and went back to the living room.

  
In the mess that was his house, he had some trouble finding his cellphone, but when he succeed he seated in his armchair, his fingers white and shaking, and dialed the number on the card.

 

 

It was a bad idea. Terrible, awful, nonsensical _shitty_ idea.

  
Why he called her? He could have find a photo of Hannibal on his house, if not, for sure would find on the internet, he didn’t need that woman’s help for this.

  
Deep inside, he knew he wasn’t there just because he wanted to know the exact shape and color of his husband’s hair.

  
Will was actually afraid of the whole process that had started in his brain without his knowledge - and allowance -, frightened of its velocity and of what else he could forget.

That was the real motive for him to be standing in front of Bedelia Du Maurier house in Baltimore, with his hand halfway to the doorbell, considering if he should turn around and go home.

  
Well, he already had driven all the way there, didn’t he?

  
He rang the bell.

  
An instant later, the blonde classy woman opened the door for him. Will instantly felt like he was in somewhere he did not belong, partly for being in her house, part for clearly being so different then she was. Hannibal in all his elegancy would fit and belong beside her. Will felt like a homeless desperate man asking for food. And at the same time, he felt her welcoming emotional embrace. “Hello, Will.” She smiled. “Please, come in.”

  
Bedelia stepped aside so he could enter. Her living room was big - as the house seemed to be -, lighted by the full-length windows. She didn’t had much furniture, making the house appear like those in display in magazines, everything in such perfection that seemed like nobody lived there.

  
“Can I offer you something? Water, coffee, tea maybe?”

  
“No, thanks.” Will stared at his shoes while speaking.

  
“Let’s have a seat, then.” She gesticulated to the two armchairs, one in front of the other in the other room near the windows and a big couch. “If I may ask, what happened to your face?”

  
Will sank into the softness of the armchair. “Have you seen the news lately?” He asked, his voice detached to him, as if it belonged to someone else.

  
Bedelia looked to him with interest. “More or less.”

  
“The FBI arrested the man…” He couldn’t speak, the words refusing to leave his mouth. “ _His_ killer. And… Jack Crawford asked me to pay him a visit to… Help saving the last victims. Long story, actually.”

  
“Did he attacked you?” Bedelia asked. Will payed attention to her voice, quiet and soft, yet sweet and profound.

  
Will laughed ironically. “ _I_ attacked _him_.”

  
“Oh.” She exclaimed, but didn’t really seemed very shocked. “I was very surprised that you called me, Will. I imagined you wouldn’t.” She made a pause. “I’m glad you came, truly. Is good to know you better after everything I heard about yourself.”

  
Will exhaled with exhaustion. “He… Talked a lot about me?” His question was almost a whisper.

  
“Very much indeed.” She gave him a wry smile. “Hannibal always had something to share about you that amazed him.”

  
Will’s mouth tried to perform a smile, but as his muscles forgot how to do it, it ended looking like a disfigured mask.

  
“What changed your mind about calling me?”

  
Will took a deep breath before answering. “I… I realized this morning I might be beginning to forget him.”

  
Bedelia replied with a therapy-like question: “How did you realized that?”

  
“I couldn’t exactly remember his hair color.” Will gulped, trying to undo the knot in his throat. “I know this is very silly of me, but… I can’t… I…” He wasn’t being able to form a reasonable phrase. Passing his hand on his face, Will tried again. “I’m… My… I’m sorry.” He took a deep breathe. “My memory is… Hum… I don’t know how to say what I mean to.”

  
“Your memory is everything you have left of him.” She completed.

  
Will nodded. “Yes.”

  
“Be calm, Will. Our brains cannot process all the information we have stored all the time, specially when we are under a lot of stress, which the scars on your face tell me you are, beyond anything.”

  
“But I’m afraid of really forgetting.” He confessed.

  
“It’s a common feeling for people who lost a loved one.” Bedelia made another pause. “How was to face the man that murdered him?”

  
Will sighed. “Terrible.” He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to hold his shit together. “He took him away from me” he slowly opened his eyelids. “for absolutely no reason at all.”  
“Did this man said or implied this?”

  
Will raised his eyes to her. “Oh, no.” He laughed.

  
Suddenly Will saw himself telling everything about that encounter to that basically unknown woman.

  
After telling her the whole thing, Will pressed his lips, feeling the knot on his throat bigger, his eyes wet.

  
“How did everything makes you feel right now, at this moment?”

  
“Angry. I’m furious at this man. Because if he had a motive, a real one, I mean, as twisted as it sound, I could’ve even empathize with his way of thinking and in some level what happened to Hannibal would… Mean something. Would be something. I can’t deal with this because Hannibal was so… _So_ special and… He… He left as nothing!” Will shouted, his voice broke.

  
Bedelia waited a moment before asking what she had noticed since the beginning of the conversation - and actually knew the answer -, thinking it might do some good to the man if she brought it out. “Will, have you noticed you make an enormous effort to avoid saying that Hannibal is dead?”

  
Will gazed her, serious. “I don’t have any problem saying Hannibal is dead.”

  
“When you are asked to, no. But when you’re speaking, you use ‘gone, left, taken’. You try as much as possible not using the word ‘dead’. It might help you deal with the situation if you use it more often. To get used to it.”

  
Will balanced his head in a negative gesture. “I can’t ‘ _get used to it._ ’ I can’t accept what happened. I can’t see myself on the ‘great’ acceptance at the end of the grief tunnel.”

  
“It’s too early to even think about achieving this spot of the process.” She pointed.

  
“Is not because of this. The fact is that he… Died. And I don’t want to reach a moment when I will be fine with it and will be able to move on with my life because it won’t be my life anymore. It will never be _my_ life. Murtagh took that away from me too.”

  
“Human beings are flexible. Even though it hurts to lose someone, and it keep hurting for a long time, for most of people hurts everyday, but in a way you can live with it.”

  
“I don’t want to live with it. I don’t want to adapt my life to a new life, a new life without him.”

  
“What do you want, then?”

  
“Save him.”

  
Bedelia glanced at Will with sad eyes. “You know we can’t turn the clock backwards.”

  
“Hannibal had an expression for this. When we were taking care of Abigail Hobbs… Did he tell you about her?” Bedelia nodded affirmatively. “Well, when we were taking care of her and her father’s case, Hannibal told me he took her to his house one day, picking her from the clinic she was because she was very annoyed to be there, and… He made some tea to her and she let the cup slip from her hands, and it shattered on the floor. Years after that he told me this story saying that metaphorically it made him think about things that can’t be changed. When Abigail left, he told me a time or another he would shatter a teacup and watch it to see if it would come back together. The thing is… The teacup is broken. Is never going to get itself back together again.”

  
At that moment, thinking about what he was saying, Will realized the broken teacup wasn’t exactly Hannibal’s death. Hannibal’s death was Abigail’s hands slipping the cup, the broken porcelain pieces that would be forever shattered, they were Will himself.

  
He continued. “And I know this. But I will never stop, from time to time, to shatter a cup and watch it, hoping it _will_ get back together. Because I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know who I am, if there is any of me left, if I’m alone. I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with him.”

  
“I do understand what you are feeling, Will, but you do realize that this state can’t be eternal? Or do you plan on staying in everlasting suffering?”

  
“I think I do.” He answered fast. What was the point of moving through the pain, anyway? It would not bring his life back.

  
Bedelia took a time to think about it. “People who tend to this choices are normally afraid that no longer feeling pain is a form of ingratitude for those who are gone. You don’t need to deny or forget his existence, nor to live in eternal hell, Will. The other option, that I strongly tend to believe also suits you, is guilt. Humans created the concept of hell to segregate those who dismiss the rules and laws to eternal punishment. When we condemn ourselves or others to a state of eternal punishment, it means we or they need to learn a lesson, to regret and retreat from an incorrect behavior. Punishment demands a sense of guilt, self inflicted or not. Do you feel guilty for his death?”

  
“I am guilty.” Will promptly replied.

  
“How so? Did you were responsible for Mr. Hofmann’s decisions and actions or did you knew what was going to happen and drove Hannibal to his own death? Otherwise, opening Dante’s Inferno’s door to yourself is… Inaccurate.”

  
Will liked Bedelia’s way of thinking. It reminded him in some level of Hannibal’s metaphoric and historical commentaries. He knew that what she was saying was right, yet she wasn’t there in that night. She wasn’t the one watching him die. She couldn’t possible know how that felt.

  
“One of the many things I also learned with my husband was that doing nothing is still doing something. Observation, many times, _is_ participation. And I observed him die in front of me.”

  
Bedelia nodded, understanding his point. “Could you have done something to help him that you neglected to do?”

  
“I don’t know.” Will confessed. Many things passed by his head, over and over again. What if he didn’t accept the invitation to make a trip that day? What if he could be more attentive and had seen Murtagh? What if he, instead of waiting for the ambulance, did not tried to drive to a hospital with him? What if Will could try, with Hannibal’s medical assistance, do something to help with the bleeding and the bullet?

  
This questions kept haunting him, pointing fat fingers to his face, choking him in his poor sleep at night.

  
“Why don’t you tell me what happened that night? I won’t cure your sense of guilt, but… I might give a better opinion on how much you observed, participated or just did the best you could.”

  
Will took a deep breath, adjusting his body on the armchair.

  
He told her.

  
Everything.

  
And he cried.

  
A lot.

  
Bedelia was the first person to whom he told the whole episode of that night.

  
It hurt. Badly. While telling her, the images kept rolling behind his eyes like a movie, stretching back and forward in time. The moment of shock when his world turned around.

The blood, _oh, all that blood_ and Hannibal’s calm voice while Will was so desperate.

  
A long, long time passed after Will told her. Bedelia waited, sitting quietly while Will cried some more. She left herself go for a moment and her mind wandered to her dearest friend and colleague. She missed Hannibal. Her process of grief was known to her, so she could respect her moments of solitude and pain. Hannibal was, after all, her only patient, and for a long time that seemed perfectly fine. She felt as if she couldn’t think about wasting her life and time with patients she couldn’t save, that could at the end, be dangerous to her. Hannibal’s death left a void on her weekly schedule, that different from Will, demanded immediate change. At first she thought about moving to another country, France perhaps. Then she remembered the only thing Hannibal has ever asked her to do for him, a very important favor that came to be charged too early. Looking at Will at that moment, she knew once more Hannibal had been right, and she would try to do what her friend asked her years ago to do, if Will would let her. What followed this, she would await to see.

Will managed to control himself. “I’m sorry.”

  
“It’s fine. I’m really sad for what happened… And _how_.”

  
Will looked down, exhausted, even more after crying.

  
“Will?” Bedelia called. He raised his head to face her. “But there is something you did not tell me.”

  
“What?” He raised an eyebrow, confused.

  
“What happened between the moment the ambulance arrived at the house and the doctor telling you he died?”

  
Will quickly opened his mind to tell her, but then he stopped, surprised. He scoured through his brain, and found nothing.

  
He had no recollection of that.

  
“I don’t remember…” He whispered, shocked with himself. “I really don’t have a clue. I heard the ambulance coming and I… The next thing I remember is being called by that woman in the hospital. I don’t… God, I really don’t know!”

  
“Do you remember feeling dizzy? Fainting? Or something like?”

  
“I don’t think so. I just… My brain assumed I jumped from one moment to the other.” To be honest, until that very moment he hadn’t realized that wasn’t what happened, that he couldn’t have teletransported to the hospital.

  
“I think your brain blocked this memory to spare you. And since you are blocking every emotion that can lead to remembering that night, you’re blocking your grief away from you, the memory did not come to the surface.” She explained.

  
It made sense. He was so stressed and desperate on that night that his brain must have shut down what it thought it was silliness. The way to the hospital probably was just a connection between what happened before and after it, so his mind saved him the trouble of storing that memory.

  
“I think trying to bring this memory back is a very good way of dealing with the fear that brought you in here today.”

  
“What if is a bad memory?” Will pointed. “What if it makes more harm?”

  
“It is one of the most recent memories you have of him. It might bring details that will reinforce him in your mind. I can try an exercise with you to help it come to the surface. It is not hard, is just a induced breathing and relaxation exercise to help you go to another state of consciousness and rescue this memory.”

  
Will took a mental step back, unsure. “I’m not sure…”

  
“Well, if you want, of course, it’s your choice.”

  
Will scratched his neck, nervously. “This sounds more like therapy than I intend to.”  
“It is something I used in therapy sessions, I won’t lie. But in my defense” she smiled “if this blocked memory do more harm, we can accept is as my help or your Dante’s punishment.” She joked.

  
Maybe was because of the joke, of her way of saying, or because knowing Hannibal trusted that woman made Will closer to trust her, or the fact that he actually had nothing else to lose, or the cup of strong coffee she made to him, but Will found himself allowing her to do her “witchcraft” - as he used to mockingly call Hannibal’s therapy exercises - and help him remember what happened when the ambulance arrived.

 

 

"Breathe in... And out again, Will." Bedelia commanded. Will was laid in the grey couch next to the armchairs, his eyes closed. They had started the exercise by doing a muscle relaxation before he laid. Now was the next part of the exercise, where he had to breathe deeply.

"You do not need to open your eyes." Bedelia spoke in a deep tone, slowly. "I have here by my side a metronome. When I turn it on, I want you to fully concentrate on it's sound, erasing everything else."

  
Will waited. Within a few seconds, he heard the known sound of the metronome. Hannibal had used that before with him, in similar sessions. Apparently Will had a very autonomous mind, chosing a lot of memories to change and block. He also had used the metronome in concentration exercises when Will's anxiety was too disturbing.

  
Will took a deep breath again, flushing the thought of his therapy with Hannibal away, and focused on the sound.

  
It was similar to a clock, but with a more stuffy and dry sound, it's compass different than the tic-tac of a clock. The sound was calming, somehow. Focusing on one thing was something that used to help Will blocking the world for some instants.

  
A long moment passed before Dr. Du Maurier spoke. "Now, you will be guided by the sound of my voice. Hear it, but as part of your own mind. Let it be your guide to the layers of your subconsciousness. I shall now count from one to ten, and when I reach ten you will be on that night. I say: _one_. You feel your feet, every individual finger, and a warmth begins to involve them, climbing up slowly by your leg, relaxing you."

  
Will let himself feel it. Easily he could sense his feet adjusting and the muscle relaxing.

  
"Two." Bedelia's voice was at a constant rhythm, low and deep. Will begun to not listen the metronome anymore, only her voice. "It's passing by your knees, warmth and relaxation, making its way up on your hips. Three. This wave of warmth embraces your torax and back, warming every bone, peacefully walking on your veins. You feel your body heavy, but relaxed. Four. You feel the oxygen filling your lungs, joining with the loving warmth, clearing your bronchus of any dirt. Five. You feel your throat clearing with fresh oxygen. Six, the muscles of your shoulders are relaxed..." She dragged the word in a sibilate way. "You are safe and at peace. Seven. Your entire body is relaxed and embraced by this warmth. You begin to sink. You are in a white room made with white walls and floor. Eight. You are floating on this room, completely relaxed. You go deeper." Will felt his mind drifting away to somewhere unknown. "Nine. The oxygen reaches your brain, giving you clarity. It takes you deeper, and deeper... And deeper. The room slowly become the room you were in that night. When I count to ten, you will be by Hannibal's side on that night. Remember that you are safe and at peace, and nothing can do you harm."

Will's vision was foggy, blurred. A voice that did not belong where he was spoke in the back of his skull, to him only. " _I say ten._ "

 

 

Will could see now. The red flashlights of the ambulance’s siren burst from the windows.

  
_"Thank you." Will whispered, as if speaking to God. "I'm not leaving of your side." He said to Hannibal. "You'll be fine."_

_  
Hannibal nodded, feeling the weight of tiredness approaching._

  
"Do not close your eyes." Will asked while running to open the door. "He's inside!" He screamed to the paramedics that were flying out of the ambulance as soon as it parked, crossed in the driveway.

  
They came in with the medical kits. Hannibal was still, his eyes closed. Will panicked for a second, but his husband opened his eyelids to the first touch of the paramedic, blinking and trying to give him a smile. The paramedics were two men that quickly put Hannibal in the stretcher, fixing his head and neck to not move and asking all sorts of question. While one spoke to Hannibal to test his level of consciousness the other asked Will for the primary details. The whole thing took less than a whole minute, but it seemed like an hour passed by until Hannibal was being raised to the ambulance. A woman with a lab coat was inside, waiting for them. Will climbed up and seated next to Hannibal. Lecter's eyes were opened all the time while he was being put in the ambulance and his gaze was fixed in Will, comforting his frightened husband, as if saying "is okay. I am okay."

  
The ambulance closed it's doors and the wheels sang when they turned back to the road.  
The paramedics started to do their job on Hannibal. Will held his hand as much as he could, when he wasn't in the middle of a procedure. A small monitor had been connected to Hannibal, so they could hear his heartbeat.

  
Will noticed he was shivering. "You're shaking."

  
"It's cold." Hannibal answered with a low tone.

  
He had three blankets around him. Above the thermal blanket.

  
Will gazed the doctor with puppy desperate eyes. She wrapped Hannibal's legs. Will covered his shoulders with his coat. His abdomen had to be exposed so they could try to control the bleeding.

  
They were having no success.

  
Hannibal felt his mind slipping away, his consciousness becoming poorly, his eyes foggy. He tried to concentrate on Will's eyes. He knew his effort was useless, but for the man he loved, he had to try. He had to stay still and deny the agonizing pain and the desperate coldness of losing his blood and hold on. For Will. Just a little longer. Yet, keeping his eyes open was almost an impossible task.

  
"Mr. Lecter, you can rest." One of the man said. "We are taking care of you."

  
He closed his eyes for a longer moment, his breath unsteady. He was so tired. So tired.  
Will squeezed his hand. The younger man's fingers seemed to him like flames, his warmth being the opposite of Hannibal's cold body.

  
"You will be fine." Will whispered in his ear.

  
Hannibal and the woman doctor shared a stare that Will did not understood. She seemed very concerned. The bleeding finally seemed to be under control, his pressure stable. Will was afraid, but as he seemed better, he told his husband to try to relax, sleep maybe. He would wake up in the hospital and Will would be by his side.

  
"I love you." Hannibal whispered so low that Will had to lean closer to understand what he was saying. The older man was afraid that he might lose his consciousness and not wake up. It was better to left no things unsaid.

  
"I love you too." Will said near his lips.

  
Hannibal closed his eyes. Will did the same, resting his head for an instant in the wall of the ambulance, still holding Hannibal's hand. It was marinated in fear and pain, but that moment was the most peaceful and quiet since he was shot, the only sound being the heart monitor and a low noise of pen brushing against the papers the paramedics were writing something.

  
In that moment, Will felt the tiredness take over his body, and in an instant, he felt exhausted. He knew the trip to the hospital might take a little while, since they had been so away from anything, so he left himself close his eyes for a quick resting after checking on Hannibal's again. He was quiet, eyes closed, probably asleep. Will could give himself some minutes of resting. Just a few minutes...

 

The resting didn't last.

  
Hannibal suddenly gasped for air, desperately, making a loud sharp noise and bending his body up in a seated position. Will woke up scared.

  
Hannibal's eyes were big with pain as his throat made sharp awful noises of someone that was choking.

  
The paramedics rose, as if they were puppets and its master pushed the wood sticks to make them move again.

  
"He's asphyxiating!"

  
The heartbeat monitor went crazy, beeping desperately.

  
Hannibal choked some more.

  
"Hann!" Will screamed.

  
A fresh, hot wave of vomit hit Will and the doctors.

  
Will held the impulse to scream when he saw it was blood.

  
Hannibal gasped again, vomiting more blood.

  
"The wound is bleeding again!"

  
"His heart is beating too fast, he will collapse!"

  
More blood.

  
Gasping.

  
Screams.

  
"He is choking in his blood!"

  
"His blood pressure is dropping!"

  
Hannibal's head turned to Will's, and for the first time in the night Will saw fear. Panic, to be more precisely. He saw Hannibal was trying to do something but he couldn't control his body.

  
Will screamed too. "Do something!"

  
Hannibal started to convulse.

  
The scene seemed to happen in slow motion as the moment when he was shot. Will saw his husband's body twitch up and down on the stretcher, blood everywhere, the paramedics running and moving, the heart monitor screaming in a deafening way, and Will himself screaming... All in slow motion.

  
And then... Time stopped.

  
No sound.  
No breathes.  
No blood.  
No movements.  
Nothing.

_Hannibal's heart stopped to beat._

And Will was in slow motion, moving like in sand, unable to do anything.  
"No...!"  
He watched as the paramedics picked the defibrillator paddles.  
"Charge at 100!" The doctor ordered.  
Hannibal's body arched.  
Nothing else happened.  
No.  
"Charge again, 200!"  
Again.  
And again.

Nothing happened.  
His heart wasn't beating.  
"No!" Will's scream broke the slow motion effect. "No!" He leaned over Hannibal, his hands on his shoulders. Will shook his shoulders. "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

  
No.

  
No.

The paramedics and the doctor gazed at one another with a sorrow look on their faces.

No.

Will turned to them, furiously speaking. "Are you not going to do anything?! Don't stand there looking! Do something!"

  
"Mr. Graham" the doctor called. "It's been almost two minutes. He is..."

  
No.

The monitor beeped again out of nothing. They all turned, watching in shock as Hannibal's eyes opened and he gasped for air.

  
Will cried out loud, relieved.

  
"Thank you, oh God, thank you!"

  
"I'm... Not..." Hannibal whispered, coughing. "I need to... Need to... Stay. Just a little longer..."

  
"Shh..." Will patted his sweaty hair. "It's okay."

  
Hannibal eyes met Will's, and he smiled. "You... You are the best thing I had ever had... In my... Existence. Please...I need to fight" he wasn't making any sense. "Fight for you. For you. I love you."

  
"I love you too." Will whimpered.

  
"That's good." Hannibal replied, and lost consciousness again.

 

 

"Hannibal!" Will screamed.

  
When he looked around, he wasn't in the ambulance anymore.

  
He was sweating and gasping, desperately trying to grab the air around him and send it to his lungs, but he wasn't in the ambulance.

  
The place at first seemed completely unknown. Slowly, looking around, he noticed where he was.

  
"Will?" Bedelia called.

  
Will passed his sweaty hand on his hair, nervously. "He died."

  
"What do you mean?"

  
"Hannibal died on that ambulance." Will assimilated slowly what happened, there in the memory and now in the present. "His heart stopped for almost two minutes. He died. He died and he came back to me, after two minutes. He came back so I could be with him a little longer." Will was really shocked. "Why did I not remember this?"

  
Bedelia waited a moment before waiting. She went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water for Will. "Here. Drink."

  
Will held the glass as if his life depended on it, swallowing as fast as he could. Bedela offered another glass, which he gladly accepted. She came back with the glass refilled and with a small jar filled to the bottom. "In case you want more." She laid the jar on the corner table and seated on her armchair again.

  
"Your brain probably blocked this memory as soon as Hannibal came back to life. Because it was the realization that he might die, that he, in fact, already had died."

  
Will nodded, understanding. "And I was making myself oblivious to this possibility."

  
"Yes."

  
Will refilled his glass from the jar, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand.

  
"Do you remember what happened after he woke up again?"

  
Will thought for an instant. The memory came easily to the surface now.

  
"His heart stopped two more times, but he came back alone very quickly."

  
"He was fighting hard for you."

  
"For me." Will agreed. "We reached the closest hospital and he was immediately taken to surgery. He held my hand one last time while they were taking him away and whispered that he loved me..." Will's knot in the throat came back. "And told me that despite everything things would be okay."

  
Bedelia provoked his thoughts. "What you think he meant by that?"

  
"I would like to say he was trying to tell me he would be fine, but... I think what he meant was for comforting _me_ that somehow I would be fine after all."

  
It was a lie. Deep, sharp-edge lie.

  
Will was hundred miles away from fine. He seriously doubt he would ever be anywhere close to fine again.

  
Bedelia waited to see if he was going to add another commentary. When he didn't, she spoke. "Will, as I am not your therapist, what I am going to say is just a friendly recommendation, okay?"

  
He gazed her kind eyes. "Go ahead."

  
"You should allow yourself to feel your grief. These unwelcoming feelings are haunting you, and the more you avoid them, stronger they become. Grief demands to be felt."

  
"It will kill me if I let it all out. It will destroy me." He confessed.

  
"It might appear like it will. But it won't."

  
"I can not even go his house, the house _we_ lived in, how am I supposed to do this?"  
Bedelia smiled. "You said it yourself. Go to the house. Stay some time in there, just with yourself, and let this pain show it's sharp edges. Face it. Talk to it. Let it know you are bigger."

  
A shivering cold passed down Will's spine. Going back to that house.

  
Could he do it?

  
Bedelia stood up. "Well, I might have a little something to encourage you. Just a moment."

  
Will frowned, curious and frightened at the same time. He heard while she walked on the stairs to the second floor, hearing her footsteps in some room above his head and down by the stairs some minutes later. Will drank another glass of water while waiting.

  
Apparently, Bedelia had not brought anything in her hands. She came closer to him and extended her right hand, opening in front of him. In her palm laid a small old key.

  
"What is this?"

  
"It belongs to you."

  
Will frowned, picking the key and raising it in front of his eyes.

  
"I don't understand."

  
Bedelia went back to the armchair. "Hannibal gave me this, more or less two years ago." _What?!_ "He asked me to keep this key in safety and give it to you in case something happened to him."

  
Will's eyes grew bigger. "Did he... Knew something might happen?"

  
"It isn't hard to assume. Hannibal had many troubled patients, some dealing with aggressivity, paranoia, psychosis. Working for the FBI, he put himself on the forefront to be in risk. And after all, even knowing how to defend himself more perfectly than anyone I ever met, he was just... Human."

  
Will stared at the black key in his hand. "Why he left me this? I mean, it's a key, where or to what it belongs?"

  
"You know how much he seeked for control, in every aspect of his life. Hannibal wanted to make sure he would have the last word upon his death."

  
Will sighed. "It sounds like him."

  
"I don't know what it contents, but he told me to instruct you the key opens a blue metal chest, like a vault, that is..." She thought for an instant, remembering. "Is inside of his waistcoat wardrobe, somewhere near a drawer with... I don't remember."

  
"The drawer where he kept his changeable buttons and buttoning." Will answer promptly. He was surprised. He had no memory of a chest like that.

  
Bedelia nodded. "Yes, I think it is."

  
"Thank you." Will was still gazing the key with curiosity.

  
"Go to the house. Stay there a couple of days, see what it is that he left for you." Bedelia smiled. "Then if you think is a good idea, I would like to see you again when you come back."

  
Will would like to say he wouldn't, but in fact talking to her was surprisingly... Good.

  
"I will. He replied with a sincere smile. "I think I should go now."

  
Bedelia walked him to the door. "I had a very good time speaking with you, Will. I'm glad you came."

  
_Somehow, me too._

  
After all, while he was turning his car on he realized: he remind perfectly Hannibal's light brown, with hints of pale dark blonde hair.

 

 

  
It was the first time Will went to that house after what happened. He still wasn't sure of his motives to go there, if moved by simple masochism or the deep disquietude found in the emptiness of his small house in Wolf Trap, Virginia, the void that came along with the sense of absent.

  
He wasn't going to fill the blank of his absence by going on his house, he knew that. He wasn't there.

  
Yet, there he was, parking in front of the yellow brick house, in the early hours of the morning. He had the keys now, a gesture that couldn't serve as comfort. All doors to his past were free and open to Will now, he had all the keys he might need. But without a guider, without the past's owner, the visit wasn't worth.

With a deep, insecure breathe, Will unlocked the doors.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I did the stupidity of wanting to post from my iPad, the entire text was without italics, spaces, so sorry if something was odd. I will be checking iy on a computer later. And by te way, my beta-reader had to leave this fic because she moved to another house, so let me know if the english is wrong because I will be making the beta again.  
> Oh, and about Abigail, I will further be explaining, but in my fic after a time in the mental hospital she manage to move and rebuilt her life. 
> 
> Well, hope to see you all next chapter and on the tumblr! Kisses!


	10. Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going back to the house Will used to call home is not easy. Is he going to face his ghosts - or find new ones?  
> *Here we go to the first chapter when Will is at the kitchen on Hannibal's house.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I should had updated this on monday, but it was my birthday and I came back home at 2 AM and I had a lot to do yesterday, so here it is, the chapter and all the tumblr pages are updated with the song playlists, the link to this chapter and more. Hope you like it!   
> Oh, I wanted to dedicate this chapter to my amazing reader Matilda and to all my amazing readers that leave those amazing commentaries that makes my days.
> 
> Songs: Maggie Clifford - I Turn to Water  
> M83 - Too Late  
> Audiomachine - Final Hope

_Present Time_  
  
Opening the front door calmly, Will entered, walking slowly, sensing his feet on the wooden floor, aware of all the details he had never been aware before: the sound of the wood beneath his shoes, the tone of the green in the corridor, the way the morning light set an angelical tone to the dining table and the fireplace. The furniture wasn't covered for some reason. He wondered why. Everything was right in its place, immaculate, the house breathing an air that was no longer necessary. His feet wandered to the kitchen, where he had been many, countless times before. In the back of his mind he could hear a knife hitting the wood of the cutting board, cutting the meat with symmetrical perfection, the butter melting in the frying pan, Bach or Mozart coming from the other room. In the back of his mind he could hear him saying "Hello, Will" with warmth in his voice, offering a glass of wine that was already there waiting for Will, and he would head closer to the countertop, bent his body closer to touch those sweet lips, only to hear him say Will's hair would fall on the food, which was an unforgivable sin, and said that he would bent and kiss Will on the lips again only to make sure the younger man knew he was more important than the food's preparation.  
  
All of this was in the back of his mind, while in front of him, his eyes saw the reality of the empty place. There was no classical music coming from the other room, no butter melting in the frying pan, no meat being prepared, no glass of wine waiting for his arrival. Mostly important, if Will leaned over the countertop, there was no lips to kiss.  
  
He was alone.  
  
His hands opened the refrigerator, and he stood there wondering why it hurt that much to see it was empty.  
No food, no wine, not even a bottle of water. A long minute passed while he stared at the empty refrigerator. He stared still, like if food would just pop there, magically refilling the void. Will remembered what Nietzsche said, that if you stare into the abyss, the abyss will stares back at you. In that moment, the abyss was his own emptiness, staring at him from the inside of the empty refrigerator, like a mirroring lake. Shutting the door robotically after a moment, he felt his back heavy, and with it against the refrigerator's door, he left himself slowly come to the ground. It was to expect he would have tears in his eyes by now, but Will guessed he had no more tears to shed. He was dry and empty, like the refrigerator, the kitchen and the house.  
  
It was exhausting. Everything; even the simple task of bringing clean oxygen to his lungs was desperately exhausting. Will waited for a while, his eyes closed, the only sound being his breath and an occasional car on the street outside.  
He imagined he would break, shatter in tiny pieces like porcelain, when he entered the house. But in fact, he was already so damaged that perhaps this painful nothing would be the worse he could get. It was indeed more unbearable than he could accept. Will wanted to stand up from the kitchen's floor and go to Hannibal's - _t_ _heir_  - room and open that secret box, but he couldn't make his body move. He tried. He even spoke to his muscles in an encouraging tone, but his effort was useless. So he just... Gave up.  
The best Will managed to do was to stretch his legs and move his head to the window. He watched the sunlight invade the room in different intensities as the time passed by.  
Hours passed, and he hadn't made it to the next room. He laid in the floor using his backpack and his coat as a pillow and watched the light change, touching every corner of the kitchen.  
In all the time that passed, he had never felt so alone.

  
  
"Will?" Hannibal's voice called from somewhere. It was dark.

  
"I'm here." Will answered, unable to see anything farther than a palm away.

  
He heard Hannibal's footsteps coming closer. A flickering dim light of a candle enlightened the two man, even though Hannibal nor Will was carrying a candle.

  
Hannibal smiled profoundly, gently holding Will's face in his hand, caressing his cheek with his thumb. "My precious Will."

  
Will closed his eyes to the warmth of his touch, his body coming closer to the older man, theirs chests touching.

  
"It's cold here." Will comment, discretely shivering.

  
Hannibal hugged Will, laying the younger man's head on his shoulders. Will relaxed to the big arms surrounding him with protection and affection. That embrace was home.

  
They stood like that in silence for a few minutes. Will then rose his head and leaned closer to kiss his husband's lips. The kiss was slow, soft, but tender, intense. Hannibal held Will's curls in his fingers, moving his lips to Will's neck, smelling the sweet perfume of his skin.

  
Something wet and warm coming from Hannibal's belly touched Will. He pulled back a bit, looking down.

  
"Hann, you're bleeding!"

  
Hannibal did not answer. Will suddenly felt aware of how heavy the man body was upon him, like he was supporting all his weight in Will's shoulders. "Hannibal. Hannibal!" Will shook him.

  
Again, no response.

  
Worried with all that blood that was coming from Hannibal, wetting their pants and shoes, making a pool on the floor, Will gently held Hannibal's neck and back with his hands, pulling him to see his face.

  
Will screamed with what he saw: it was Hannibal, but it wasn't. In his arms, there was a cold, pale, blue-ish corpse, with the eyeballs completely white, wearing Hannibal's suit, now covered in fresh blood, and there was more coming from the wound in his stomach.

  
Hannibal's dead body suddenly regained some life, slowly smiling to him in a evil way, his eyes a white sea, no pupils, no iris, his purple lips turned in that horrifying happy face. Will dropped the body, screaming with shock. When he tried to run away, he felt himself slipping in the pool of blood, slipping all the time without making a full step.  
The corpse stood up, red with dropping blood from the clothes and hair and started to make his way up to Will.

  
Will tried harder to leave, and suddenly he conquered the ability to walk again.  
It didn't last long. After a few quick steps in his hurry to run from that _thing_ , he fell.

  
On the floor, blood surrounded him, like sea waves, and it covered his body, moving quickly over him. The blood was everywhere, and it had finally made it's way up to Will's nostrils and throat.  
He was drowning, unable to breathe.  
He gasped, putting his head above the sea of blood for an instant, gasping for fresh air.  
A big wave of blood came closer, pushing him further and deeper into itself, until he couldn't fight anymore.

  
  
Will abruptly opened his eyes, confused. His breath was unsteady, he had no idea where he was. He seated, the place beginning to clear in his mind. He was in Hannibal's kitchen.  
Looking to the window, he imagined by the soft and orange sunlight that it was some hour around the sunset. He probably fell asleep on the kitchen's floor, and like always, a nightmare woke him up. Nightmares like this, unrealistic and fanciful, were scary, too scary, but way easier to wake up from than those that seemed more like reality, like when he dreamed he tried to find Hannibal and he wasn't anywhere, leaving Will alone. Even worse, was being awake by his own screams of pure terror, not necessarily appearing after a nightmare.

Will slowly stood up, his joints aching from sleeping on the floor. Collecting his backpack and coat, he moved without excitement to the dining room, pacing through the living room, up the stairs without a glimpse of emotion in his face. Will was lifeless, wandering through the rooms and beside of the furnitures like a misguided, lost ghost, awaiting for resolution for the pendencies he had left behind.

In the second floor, Will’s steps become slower, the heaviness in his chest bigger. It was like there was a thin cloud of smoke moving leisurely towards Will. Finally, he arrived.

The smoky cloud surrounded him, thicker, when he touched the knob with his fingers, turning it gently.

Behind his eyelids, many moments passed by, countless times he had opened that same door, the thousands of different clothes the man who used to wait for him there wore, from three pieces suits to pajamas, fancy party suits to nothing but a welcoming smile.

_“Hello, Will”, “Hi, my love”, “Come in, sweet Will”_ were usual welcome.

Opening the door, emptiness awaited.

Will gazed the bed - _his_ bed, _their_ bed -, staring at the known dark blue blankets that now seemed so strange to him. He knew it, he slept on it countless times and yet… Will looked to it as if he had never seen it before.

Mechanically he lowered his bag on the floor. The room was perfectly tidy, as if one lived there. Alana must have called a maid - or did the job herself - to clean and organize the house. Will would rather she hadn’t done it. For some stupid, twisted reason of the mind, Will remembered perfectly how the room was when he left for the last time. There were some of his clothes above the green bed comforter, he was trying to decide what to put in his suitcase to the mysterious trip Hannibal and he would do. His books were a mess above the fireplace, there were ashes from the fire he made to warm himself on the night before. Now, the room was so organized that it was obvious someone had died. The walls and the furniture shouted it.

Will opened his bag and quickly searched for the key that Bedelia gave him. Putting it on his pants pocket, he took a deep breath and opened the brown wardrobe.

It’s funny how pain can be pressed and tensioned, compressed to fit inside a person’s body, and yet, it explodes in such ferocity that is frightening to see, coming to surface in the most random moments. With Will was the same. He imagined he would fall apart in the second he entered the house, but he didn’t. After having a nightmare sleeping on the kitchen’s floor and not falling apart, he thought the pain would be with its fangs under control for a time.

It didn’t.

In the second he stared at the clothes in the wardrobe, all the fancy and elegant waistcoats Hannibal had, placed side by side with a few that Will had - ugly ones he used to fish, others that Hannibal gave him and he almost never used because they were too fancy for his style…

Will fell on the ground with the wave of burning agony that took over him. Tears came immediately, within seconds he was sobbing so desperately that he couldn’t see a damn thing. He bent his upper body to his knees, hiding his face in his palms. He was so sick of crying. So sick of feeling that huge stupid pain.

After what it seemed like an eternity, Will managed to decrease his sobs to a calm, though constant, weep. He inhaled deeply some times and, still on his knees, opened the drawer of the waistcoats and blazers changeable buttons and cufflinks. At first sight, he saw nothing different. Many little boxes with cufflinks above a white velvet support, like those inside of jewelry boxes. Will gently passed his fingertips in one box he remembered well; he had bought that cufflink for Hannibal, it was a silver square with green arabesques. Staring at all those buttons and cufflinks, Will tried to focus beyond the pain he felt to find the metal chest.

After wondering for a moment, he remembered the white velvet support was basically just a layer of foam covered with velvet fabric. Will slowly took out all of the small boxes and put them carefully on the floor, with meticulous gestures as if they were very fragile and could break at any second. Some actually _were_. Holding the sides of the foam, he managed to remove it from the drawer. It surprised him to discover the foam was very close to the surface of the drawer, that was very large and deep, with a lot of space. In the wood that belong to the drawer, under the foam, he found nothing but a blue large metal chest.

Hannibal kept that thing in there all that time and Will had no idea. He had imagined that the man used to keep in that empty spaces underneath the foams some old papers, maybe cards from clothing stores, anything but a secret chest.

Will held the metal chest with both hands and took it off the drawer. It was heavy, perhaps due to the metal it was made of, perhaps due to its content. He seated on the carpet and placed it carefully in front of him. With unsteady hands, he found the key in his pants pocket and inserted it in the lock, turning easily. A low click signalized that it was opened.

Will held his breath, nervous, opening the chest. Inside, he noticed a couple of things in perfect organization: first of all, a letter with Will’s name written on the envelope with Hannibal’s elegant calligraphy. Beside it was a audio tape with a post-it on it, saying PLAY ME, also on handwriting. Then he saw some small boxes, something that seemed like an album and a plastic folder. Will felt his heart small, aching. He picked the letter first, imagining it might contain some kind of instruction. Just by seeing Hannibal’s handwriting in a letter directed to him made his eyes fill with water again. He begun to read:

 

_My Dearest Will,_

_I must begin by saying how sorry I am for this moment. I truly never wanted you to find yourself in the situation of reading this letter. But until the present moment, science, God, nor the strength of my feelings for you have empowered me with the ability to stop the clock and prevent you from needing to open this piece of paper. I hope you do not need to find this letter ever, but in case you are reading this, I am sorry._

_In the moment I stopped performing surgeries and begun to work with the mind, I become aware of the dangers I was bringing upon myself. Of course, there were risks before; every profession has. But working as a psychiatrist required me to deal with ill people with no control of their actions and thoughts. So when Jack Crawford brought me to work with you and the FBI, I wasn’t surprised. I never have lived in fear, Will. Danger does not frights, it excites me, when involving intelligence and mind games. It is appealing to you as it is to me. It sends adrenaline down our blood system, make us feel alive. So when Tobias Budge attacked me in my office and you told me you felt like you have brought me into your world, I meant what I said when I told you I got here on my own. And each passing day of our lives together, I appreciate the company even more._

_You are probably confused, so allow me to use this letter to explain. Knowing I won’t live forever, and in case some work eventuality comes to be my end, as your husband, partner, lover, and sometimes yet your therapist - oh, it hurts deeply to even imagine not hearing anymore your sweet lips calling me “Doctor Lecter” - I leave you this metal chest. Inside you will find a photo album with some of our memories - even though most of them live only in our heads, not in paper - a folder with some drawings I did for you; In fact, you will see plenty of drawings of you sleeping. I do not regret; watching you sleep is fascinating. There will be also a folder with legal things as my will, that you can discuss later with my lawyer, but in resume it's papers where I pass everything I own to you; an album and a folder with places I would like you to visit in case we loss the opportunity to visit together; a key to my office - even though you know where I keep mine - and keys to the lockers where I keep all my patients folders and notes. Please, burn them. You more than anyone knows the unwanted feeling of having your privacy invaded, and I wouldn’t like to be rude and unethical with my patients. The smaller key among the others opens the drawers in my desk. Anything in my office that might need a key, you now have it. In the chest you will also find a small green box with another key. This one is for the writing desk by the fireplace, where you will find the notes I had on you while he had our sessions. They are all yours, papers, notes, our recorded sessions._

_The last, but probably most important thing in the chest is the audio tape. I recorded a message for you, as I assumed you would appreciate hearing my voice one last time._

_You know I don’t believe in God, but in the case there is something after this life, somewhere we go to, be sure I will be making our next home there, awaiting for you. Please, take your time. There is so much beauty in the world to be seen, Will, and I want you to enjoy all of it._

_I love you,_

 

_Yours,_

_Hannibal Lecter_

 

The only sound on the house was Will’s slow breath for a long time. He read the letter three times now, still not sure of what to do about it. The walls around him screamed his loneliness, and he felt his chest so tight it was hard to breathe. Then he closed the paper and put it back on its envelope, laying it on the floor. He easily found the audio tape and it’s player. It had been a time since he last saw one of those. With shaky fingers, he clicked the “play” button. At first, he only heard a background noise, then a click. A throat clearing.

Will wasn’t prepared for the power that hearing his voice would have on him.

“Hello, Will.”

Will almost choked in his breath. It was hard to control himself. He tried, though. He wanted desperately to hear what Hannibal had left for him in that tape. “I can only imagine the pain you are going through. I am sorry.” Hannibal made a pause. Will closed his eyes, and for a moment it was like he wasn’t alone there, not anymore. “It’s odd to be sitting in my office in such a beautiful afternoon, recording this, as you are in the chase of another criminal. It is quite strange to imagine the situation that brought us to the moment where I no longer am recording, but you are listening. I have a good relationship with death, but I wonder with curiosity what happened. I hope you are not injured, if what happened involved you. At least not physically injured. On the emotional side, I have been in contact with many forms of death and many different ways of coping. I won’t hurt your intelligence by explaining the five stages of grief to you, Will. You know well a great variety of shapes in which death appears. What I will say, is that _it will hurt._ Imagining the opposite scenario, I would be in a lot of pain if you died. You cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love, and I, despite all efforts, fell for you. From the moment you entered my life, I could not longer imagine it without you. I would picture myself mourning for you as Achilles mourned Patroclus, somehow imagining you went on this particular war on my behalf, even if it wasn’t the case, because I know for granted that you and I would die - and kill - for each other. Yet, Will, please, do not feel responsible. Whatever - however - happened, it can’t be your fault. As you often tells me, what has to happen, happens.”

Will begun to cry again, silent tears slipping down his cheeks. He did not dared to open his eyes. Instead, he turned his body to the side, so Hannibal - the imagination of him, at least - could seat right next to him, tell him those words personally.

  
“Even though you feel responsible, tell yourself you aren’t.” the audio continued. “Death is a natural part of life, Will, even if one does not die by natural causes. It is natural. It is not meant to be so hurtful or traumatic. Some nations celebrate it, even. What I am trying to say is that even if you do not feel this way now, it is not the end for you. It might feel like it, but is isn’t. It is fine to mourn, to feel grief, to cry and feel any pain is inside of you. Do not deny it. Let it out. But for a small time, and, if I can ask, move to the next moment as fast as possible. Live the fullest. For me. For us. There is so much we have not lived. So many places we did not travel to. So many paintings we never saw, musics we never heard, books we never discussed about, wines we didn't taste... There is a whole life I had not lived with you. And for that I will be forever in debt. But find forces in yourself to do those things. Don’t restrain yourself to live from my memories. As you might one day agree, there are sides of me you will find unpleasant, so do not waste good time mourning too much. It is fine to move on and live, Will. I want you to. Please, stay in the house we called home for so long, and make the best of your time. Live the longest and the fullest, and perhaps one day, in another time, we might be together again for you to tell me all the great stories of your life.” Hannibal made a pause, sighing. “I love you. Goodbye, my sweet William.”

A click ended the audio.  
With closed eyes, Will smiled wryly. He had always found at the same time odd and sweet that Hannibal would call him after the flower sweet william.

Slowly he spared his eyelids, to find himself alone.

Will imagined that going to that house would hurt, but he could have never prepared himself for the excruciating pain that would overcome him. He didn’t know all of that was encaged inside of him. He stayed on the house for more or less one week. Time passes in strange ways when you are in pain, sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow. Will cried, had moments of catatonic numbness, bursts of rage where he broke art pieces, plates, threw books out of the bookshelf; he screamed, begged, whispered and felt nothing, all at once. In two nights, he got so drunk he would woke up in another room of the house with no memory of how he got there. He respected what Bedelia told him, staying there until he felt he wouldn’t die if he left. It was a tuesday afternoon, a sunny day, when Will put his bag on his car and drove away from the house. He felt a bit nauseous, a bit numb. It was an odd feeling he couldn’t describe, not good, not bad. Only them he remembered he had not called the Academy to let them know he wasn’t going to give classes for some days. Or did he call? He couldn’t remember. Taking a quick look on his phone he found no missed calls from Jack, so he imagined someone replaced him in his classes.

In the middle of the way, almost leaving Baltimore, Will stopped the car. He couldn’t go further. The mere thought of going back to his house was absurd. He somehow just couldn’t. He was afraid, paralysed. Going back wasn’t an option either.

Will turned the car back on and found himself surprised when his hands and feet drove him to Bedelia Du Maurier’s house. He stayed inside the car with the engine on, staring at the front of her beautiful house, with full wall windows. The house seemed like engraved in stone, like a beautiful modern fortress. In a sudden movement, he left the car and went to the front door. Will felt humiliated to go there, but he didn’t know where else to go or what to do.

Well, he could stay in his car if he couldn’t get inside any house.

He didn’t had to bother the woman.

She could be with a patient.

Will turned around and was halfway down the stairs when the door opened and Bedelia called him. He turned on his heels, his face blushing. “Hi.”

Bedelia’s eyes grew bigger in surprised. “What… happened with you?” it was clear she had trouble choosing her words.

“I went to the house.” Will’s tone was monotone.

“It seemed you fought a great beast in there.” She gesticulated with her chin to him. Will had only partial idea of how he looked, but he refused to look at himself in any mirrors. Actually, the mirrors were now all broken, in both houses. “Would you like to come in, Will?”

Well, since he was already there…

She served him a cup of coffee. Will would have prefered whiskey, but it wasn’t like he would ask for it.

“Tell me, how did you feel there?”

“I think I died in there.” Will confessed.

“What do you mean?” She seated in the armchair in front of him, sipping with elegance from her cup.

“Either I am now what’s left of a body in rotting process or I am a man with counted days. I feel strangely disassociated.” Will explained.

“It happens when one pass by great amount of overwhelming feelings and traumatic events.”

“Which suits me perfectly.”

“You seem troubled.” she pointed. “What made you come here and give up when you reached the door?”

“I’m stuck. I can’t go to my house, and I can’t go back to Hannibal’s.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t… Stand the void of his absence.” Will sighed. “It is like being in a small white room with absolute silence, where everything you hear is all that is missing. It’s maddening.”

Bedelia nodded. “You are haunted by the extreme consciousness of the lack of his presence. All places he had been now are left with a trace of emptiness.”

Will finished drinking his coffee, gazing at the bottom of the cup. “One I can’t stand to deal with. I feel like it is only getting worse. What was a reminder of his death is now shouting at full lungs, deafening me to anything else happening on my surrounding.”

“A truthful description of hell. You can’t go, because it will follow you, yet you cannot stay, for it will consume you.”

Will nodded, raising his head to gaze her. She didn’t had pity eyes, which was the kindest gesture Will could think of. She talked to him as if he were a normal person having a bad time, not as if he were a fragile chinese porcelain piece - as Hannibal described Jack’s vision of Will - or a wounded animal. It was good to be looked that way.

“I would suggest, for now that you are clearly overwhelmed, for you to stay in a hotel. Somewhere halfway to your house and your job, so you could see your dogs, spend some time with them, but could escape later.”

That seemed like a lame way of dealing with the situation. “I can’t live in a hotel forever.”

“But you can slowly learn again how to be by yourself in known places.” Bedelia explained. “If the houses are such a big reminder, eventually you can sell them and move somewhere new. It is not a permanent measure. I would encourage you to slowly make your way back into routine and your own house, but you can make it step by step if you stay the night in somewhere else.”

“It might help me sleep.” Will commented, agreeing.

“When was the last night you slept the whole night and woke up feeling well and rested?”

Will barely could remember. “I think before everything happened I had more good nights. Perhaps I slept the entire night when Frederick Chilton gave me his tranquilizer when I went to meet Hofmann, but no, I did not woke up feeling well.”

“Lack of sleep is one of the first factors to drive us to a mental state of profound agony and self hell.” She noted.

“What happens if I can’t go back to who I was neither be a new person?” Will asked, his fingers laying in his lap, moving anxiously all the time. “What if I am stuck for good in this can’t-go can’t-stay spot I am right now?”

“Then as you will not be able to move forward, the beast inside will eat and savour you. Passing through the doors of the Inferno, I would suggest you to forgo of your sense of self.”

Will frowned. That seemed oddly unorthodox for a therapist.

“Not being yourself is the only way you can manage to leave unscarred. How many more room do you have for scars, Will?”

 

 

“How did you feel when you killed Hofmann?” Hannibal asked, his wet fingers playing with the soft skin of Will’s neck.

“Good.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, suspicious. “Good?”

Will smiled. The man knew him so well. “I felt alive.”

Hannibal stroke Will’s cheek, smiling too. “You felt the same way of when you killed Garret Jacob Hobbs?”

Will couldn’t remember why both of them were covered in blood from hair to toe, but it wasn’t something that bothered - for some odd reason.

“Hobbs did not kill you.” Will replied.

It was then that he understood. He looked around: they were in that house by the ocean again. It was a full moon night. With a sad look on his face, he lowered his head and counted his fingers. It took a time, but apparently he had seven in one hand and four in the other.

“Looking for signs of a dream?” Hannibal asked.

“I _am_ dreaming.” Will raised his hands in front of Hannibal. They were strange, blurred. “I never actually killed Murtagh, did I?”

Hannibal held Will by the waist, gently embracing the younger man’s body. “What makes you think that?”

“The only reason I would have to murder him is because he killed you.” Will made a pause, touching Hannibal’s face. It felt so real… “And if you are here, it means either you did not die or I am dreaming.”

Hannibal smiled proudly. “I must say I am happy. Is very hard for you to have a lucid dream.”

“I am not quite sure it is a lucid dream.”

Will imagined something stupid to test: a whale appearing on the ocean. Both men looked down the cliff, nothing happened.

“Partial lucid dream, perhaps.” Hannibal kept smiling. “Enjoy it.”

Will leaned closer and kissed him. The moan coming from his throat was more of pain than of pleasure. It was so good to touch Hannibal, to feel his embrace and the warmth of his mouth and tongue, and yet… It wasn’t real.

Will spared the kiss for a moment, maintaining his forehead on Hannibal’s. “Why are we covered in blood?”

“Because of the ravenstag.” Hannibal leaned his head to the Will’s right.

On the courtyard floor near them, the stag laid breathing heavily, blood on its paws and belly.

Will couldn’t control the shock for seeing it again. It was the same stag that he used to see when he begun to work in the fields and with Hannibal, the deer that was always with him in his dreams or hallucinations when he had encephalitis. It hadn’t appeared - not even in dreams - in years.

“It’s dying.” Hannibal explained. “We are here trying to save it.”

Will felt a knot on his throat. He gazed Hannibal, his arms around the man’s shoulders pressing him tighter, afraid he would simply disappear.

“I can’t do this without you. I need you, Hannibal.”

His husband smiled. “I love you, Will.”

The deer breathed loudly, holding on to the lasts grasps of breath it could take.

“I miss you.” Will confessed.

“Me too.”

Hannibal kissed him softly on the lips.

“I need to do something.” Will whispered, the knot in his throat consuming his voice. The pain in his chest grew bigger. “I can’t be without you.”

The ravenstag breathed heavily again, opening its eyes as if Will’s words were of any motivation.

“I’m here, Will.” Hannibal gave him a wry smile. “Where you can always find me.”

Will stared at the deer. What appeared to be a cut on it’s stomach begun to close itself alone, as if in reverse time, the blood going back inside of the animal. His vitality came back, it opened its eyes and got up. In what seemed a reverence, the deer lowered his head to Will.

Will turned to Hannibal, but he was alone. He was gone, his last words echoing around in the air.

“ _I’m here, where you can always find me._ ”

 

 

Will woke up with a jolt, gasping for air. He turned on the bedside lamp, his body shaking heavily. He was all sweat, his shirt soaked.

He looked around. It took a time to remember where he was, the dream slowly giving space to reality. It was his hotel room, in a city more or less in between of Wolf Trap and the Academy. Will seated on the edge of the bed, passing his fingers between his wet curls, trying to control his breath. The dream was so vivid in his mind; it felt like the ravenstag was there in the room with him. With unsteady legs - partially because of the adrenaline of the dream running in his veins, partially because of the whiskey he drank before going to bed - Will stood up and headed to the bathroom, taking his shirt off on the way.

_Oh_ , he sighed with exhaustion. He was so tired.

Will turned the tap, wetting his hand and passing it on his neck and forehead, the cold water being a relief to his sweaty skin. He raised his head and stared at the unknown man in the mirror. If it didn’t repeat his movements, Will wouldn’t be able to say it was himself there.

He sighed. Looking at his reflection, he felt agony. He looked terrible, old, covered in visible and invisible scars.

All that situation…

_This is unsustainable,_ he thought. Will was sleeping in that hotel room for more or less two weeks now. The plan was to stay there a couple of nights only, but each morning or afternoon he went to his little house in Wolf Trap to feed his dogs he knew he wasn’t ready to go back. He couldn’t keep doing that. It was too exhausting, the pain, the situation, breathing, everything.

He just couldn’t do it anymore.

_What am I supposed to do?_

Will wet his face again, slowly watering his forehead and cheeks.

_“I’m here, Will. Where you can always find me.”_

Will slowly raised his head again, realization kicking in. He knew what he was going to do. He knew it was crazy and self destructive but he had tried to move on and look where he was now. No, he would now try a new approach.

Meeting his eyes on the mirror, he had a twisted, sick, yet exciting plan.

“I want to know where you are, Hannibal.” He said to himself. A part of his brain screamed that he was crossing a dangerous line here, but Will couldn’t care less.

_“I’m right here.”_

“I’m going to look for you.”

_“Where you can always find me.”_

  
“I’m going to find you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this end, I must say, is like the turning point to the story. Until now we could say is the Part I, and from chap 11 is Part II. Really hope you enjoyed it! Please, let me know your thoughts about this chapter, and go take a look on the tumblr! 
> 
> the key: http://www.imagebon.com/postpic/2015/08/old-skeleton-keys_60754.jpg  
> The metal chest: https://s3-us-west-2.amazonaws.com/usedphotosna/40639639_614.jpg  
> The cufflink: http://shop.nordstrom.com/s/david-donahue-paisley-lime-sterling-silver-cuff-links/3220566?origin=category-personalizedsort&fashioncolor=LIME


	11. Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remembering the odd offer, Will goes to Chilton to try his “treatment”, hoping he will be able to have Hannibal again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week was so hard, but... Here we are! I want to give my special thanks to Matilda that made an amazing fanart (go look at it on the fic's tumblr!) and afanficreader (dreamingrickyl) that gave me an amazing beautiful comment on chapter 4. I will give you two a gift (small one, not big deal) as soon as I stop being lazy.  
> PLEASE CHECK THE END NOTES 'CAUSE I WILL NEED SOME HELP!!
> 
> Good chapter! *_*
> 
> Songs:  
> Special Death - Mirah  
> Snake Charmer - Marc Amond feat Brian Reitzell (yep, it's Mason's theme song.)

The door opened. From behind it, a smiley doctor appeared. “Will Graham.”

“Frederick Chilton.” Will answered with a smirk.

“Come on in.” Chilton gesticulated, stepping aside for him to enter. Will followed him to his office. “Have a seat.”

Will stood up, walking to the windows. The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane had a very pretty view of its gardens.

“To what do I owe you the pleasure?” The doctor asked, seating in his chair.

“That treatment you spoke to me before…” Will sighed to himself, still looking at the gardens, aware of his own pathetic state. “How does it work?”

Since Will was turned to the window, he did not see the shock in Frederick’s eyes.

“It consists in giving a mix of drugs to help the patient be in touch with his memories of the person that died to allow a possibility of saying goodbye and changing the neurological response to the trauma into a non painful experience. Of course, the drugs do not work alone, they come with psychotherapy sessions.”

“Why it is unorthodox?”

Chilton laughed. “You do understand I’m talking about inducing delusion and hallucinations that might change the brain neurologically and biochemically speaking?”

Will nodded. A black bird was trying to find food between the low grass. Apparently it found a small fruit, because now it was running with a tiny orange ball in its beak.

“Besides, the doctors that came up with this technique in the north of Canada still do not know the entire range of effects that these drugs - and I must mention not all are legalized - can produce. Even working for many patients, it has plenty of side effects that might appear when is already too late.”

 _Great,_ Will thought. _Is either this or damnation._

Exactly as he expected to be.

“I want it.” Will finally turned to Chilton. The man had such a funny look on his face that almost made Will laugh. At the same time his mouth and forehead showed lines that could be read as shock and uncertainty, but his eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Well, I have to warn you-”

“I don’t care.” Will interrupted.

“Okay then.” Frederick opened his drawer in his desk to pick his notebook. “Let me see when I can fit you to get started…”

“No.” Will’s voice was firm, serious. Chilton stopped, raising his head to the younger man.

“I don’t think you understood me.” Will said. “I want it. _Now._ ”

“I-I…” Chilton stammered. “I have to have a date to put you in the therapy session. The encounters are made in groups of three to four peo-”

“I will do it alone.” Will affirmed. “Me and you.”

“I… I don’t…” Chilton was reluctant.

“Frederick.” Will’s tone was demanding. “I’m serving you my brain on a silver plate with sauce on top, what else could you possible want?”

The doctor frowned. “You would be my lab rat?”

“As you wish, as long as we start immediately.”

Will was quite surprised that his mind was going along with it. No parts of him were trying to push him to the other side, make him go away. It seemed that all his judgment of right or wrong had gotten tired and withdrew from giving opinions.

It felt good.

“You sound like you are desperate to sell your soul to the devil.” Frederick commented with a smirk on his face, picking forms on his drawer.

Will returned the smirk, his voice acid. “You aren’t the devil, Frederick. You are not that smart.”

Chilton smiled, but his eyes showed he felt hurt. He leaned over his phone, pressing a button.

A female voice came from it. “Yes, Dr. Chilton?”

“Ask Samantha to prepare the things for the G treatment, I have a new patient here with me.” Frederick answered, his eyes gazing Will.

“Okay, doctor. In a minute.”

Frederick hung up. With a smile, he picked the consent forms in his desk, and stood up. “Shall we?”

Will headed to the door, Chilton ahead. They went two floors down, inside a dark green walls room. The only window was a small one, near the ceiling. Will was so numb by his pain that he didn’t bother. In another time he would be sweating, feeling claustrophobic. In one of the walls of the room was an armchair, like those used in hospitals when you go to donate blood. Next to this chair was a big table with a couple of books, and on the opposite wall was what it seemed to be a medicine cabinet. A nurse came in from an adjoining room, bringing an IV pole and a bag with a syringe and some small medicine bottles. She passed by Frederick, smiling. “Good afternoon, Dr. Chilton.”

“Good afternoon, Samantha.” He replied with the same smile. “Can you prepare our patient here?” He gesticulated to Will, waiting in the doorway.

She stared at Will, surprised. “Mr. Graham is the patient?”

Will replied the surprise. “You know me?”

“Everyone knows who you are.” Chilton said with his ironic smirk. He went to where the nurse was,  stroking her cheek with his index finger. She retreated as politely as possible. “Description is the key to a good work, right Sam, my doll?”

“Yes, doctor.” She smiled shyly to Will, as if apologizing for Chilton’s ridiculous behavior. “Please, seat.”

Will entered the room, sitting on the armchair. The nurse gesticulated for him to move up the sleeves of his plaid shirt, and extend his arms down, with his elbow pit up. While she was with him, Chilton picked the medicine’s bag.

“We will start with the low dosage of this mix and we’ll adjust as you respond.”

Will nodded.

“I’ll collect a blood sample now, ok, Mr. Graham?” The nurse asked. Will agreed in silent. Chilton went to the other room. Will watched emotionless as his blood filled the small bottle. “We will take one of these every two weeks to follow the changes on your body.” The nurse explained, leaving the room when she had finished doing her job.

Chilton came back with a plastic bag on his hands. He gesticulated to Will while putting the bag on the table. “Here you have tapes, recorders and notebooks. I must ask you to keep a daily record in any form you prefer on how the treatment is working.”

“As you wish.” Will obeyed.

Chilton picked a clipboard from the table and brought it to Will along with a pen. “This is the consent form.”

Will picked it from Chilton’s hand, supporting the clipboard on his lap.

“Wait.” Frederick asked, as Will was already pointing the pen to the paper. “I have to warn you about the side effects.”

Will snorted. “I don’t mind.”

“There are several.” Chilton forced.

Will stared at him, serious. “I don’t want to know. Let it surprise me.”

Chilton frowned. Will almost laughed. He wanted to have Will’s brain in his hands so hard he didn’t know how to react now that he had it. “How do you intent on knowing if what you feel is because of the treatment and what is not?”

“I don’t.”

Will lowered his head to the paper, signing after a quick glance on the terms. Some words appealed to him, as brain tumor, stroke, cardiorespiratory arrest, between others. _Good._

_Either it works, or it kills me._

Will signed.

That small part of his mind that had some consciousness left sighed, beaten, retreating to its hidden place.

He extended the clipboard back to Chilton.

Frederick laughed, putting the form next to the plastic bag on the table and picking the medicine bag to prepare the mix. “What is the feeling?”

“Of?”

“Reaching the rock bottom.” The doctor kept laughing. Will couldn’t see exactly what he was putting on the syringe, but the liquid was turning green, then red, then purple, as Chilton mixed.

“Relief.” Will gave a bittersweet smile.

Frederick turned to gaze him, confused.

“It’s soothing, because once you reach it, there is no further down to go.” Will explained.

Chilton gave him a smirk in response. His eyes glittered, and for a moment Will wished his empathy would work so he could dive into this excitement as well.

Instead, he felt the taste of indignity on his mouth.

To be in that place, under the care of Dr. Chilton, by his own will… That was truly the rock bottom.

“Shall we?” Shiny-eyes Chilton asked, as a kid ready to play with his new toy. A scenario flashed behind Will’s eyelids, and he couldn’t help but smile. If nothing worked, he could ask Chilton if he would like to play Lobotomy.

“Yes,we shall.” Will smirked, like Hannibal would when initiating a dinner party, either with friends or just with Will.

“Do you want to know what this is made of?” Frederick asked, shaking the syringe in front of Will.

“No, thank you.”

Will learned to never ask what’s for dinner.

 _“Spoils the surprise”,_ Hannibal would say.

“Ok.” Chilton smiled, holding Will’s forearm down. “We will later see if you respond better with injected or inhaled medication, but let’s start with this.”

Will looked down to the needle piercing the skin in his elbow pit, and a sick, yet small, excitement appeared in the back of his mind.

He closed his eyes for an instant.

 _I’m going to find you_ , Will thought.

 

“How long until I feel something?” Will asked, scratching his neck. He was seated in the couch in front of Chilton’s desk in his office for the past fifteen minutes.

“It depends much on your body’s absorption. Some start to feel between thirty minutes and one hour. Nothing more than two hours, though.” Frederick explained, keeping Will’s consent form on his new folder, in the patients cabinet.

Will now had a record on Baltimore State Hospital for The Criminally Insane.

Insane he already was, but he wouldn’t believe if someone told him he would be there without killing anyone.

For a brief moment Will imagined if the drugs would make him see Garret Jacob Hobbs again. That would be… Curious, at least.

Will stood up, picking his plastic bag with the notebooks and the recorders. “Well, I got to get going.”

Chilton turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “Are you thinking about driving?”

“Of course. Or do you intent to drive me home?”

“You are under the effect of a chemical substance. Large amount of chemicals, actually.”

“I’ll be fine.” Will sighed.

“You can’t drive to Wolf Trap like that. I will not be responsible for your death, Graham.”

“I’m not going to Wolf Trap.” The words slipped from his mouth before he could hold them back. Now he would have to explain himself.

_Damn._

“You are back on his house here in Baltimore?” Chilton’s raised eyebrow went upper.

“Hm… No. I’m somewhere in the middle.”

Frederick sighed. “Will, I do have to know where you are living. In case you do not feel well, you have to call me first before going to a hospital.”

“If I need to call you I will give you the address.” Will headed to the door. “See you in two days.”

Chilton seated on his chair. “Your brain is mine now, don’t die.”

“I won’t.” Will faked a smile.

“You have my number on the noteb…”

“Bye, Frederick.” Will interrupted, closing the door and heading to the parking lot.

He drove to the hotel, cursing when he found that he was out of whiskey. Will thought about leaving to buy more, but he was getting sleepy.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It had passed 45 minutes since he took the drug.

 

Will opened his eyes, looking around. His head was heavy, aching as if it were about to explode. He was in the hotel room. The clock near him showed 9 AM.

9 AM?

He arrived there around 3 PM, how was it possible…

Will seated, feeling a bit dizzy. Great. The drug made him sleep. It was a good sleep, he had to admit, one of the better nights since a long time, when he slept the entire night without waking up with nightmares or anything, but… He wasn’t paying all that to have a better sleep.

That was what he told Frederick when he went back to the Hospital.

“This is why I will have to see you every each day until we manage the right dosage. When we do you will have some to take home and we'll see each other every two weeks.”

“Let’s do it already.” Will asked, annoyed.

 

Will bought more whiskey, enough for the week, before he went back to his house. He decided it was better to leave the hotel and go back to Wolf Trap, in case the drugs have strange side effects that he wouldn’t be able to explain to the hotel’s staff members.

It was odd to be back. In one side it was good, so he could have his dogs with him in full time - at least until he wasn’t back on lecturing on the Academy - and they seemed very happy to have Will back for more than just a quick visit by the morning before going to work.

Yet, the house felt so suffocating, it was hard to breathe.

Will left one of the notebooks opened with a pen on his nightstand, so he could note the effects of the drug as the days passed by. Chilton had raised the dosage, so he should feel something different.

He seated on his armchair with a glass of whiskey in one hand and petting Winston with the other, waiting.

 

_August 11, 4:15 PM_

_Feeling less sleepy than two days ago, but still sleepy. My muscles are relaxed._

 

_4:42 PM_

_The walls of my house have a brighter color._

 

_4:53 PM_

_Winston’s fur seems softer. Also the paint on the walls is becoming very vivid and seems to be leaving the concrete and becoming liquid._

_I feel slightly dizzy._

 

_August 13, 2:06 PM_

_Relaxed. My perception is getting amplified again._

 

_4:12 PM_

_My fingers are tingling._

 

_7:34 PM_

_Max bark is blue._

_Talking about blue, the whiskey bottle is walking towards me in a funny way._

 

_9:10 PM_

_Hands keep tingling, but is not bad. Just… Odd. I bathed the dogs. Buster smells yellow-ish now._

 

_10:22 PM_

_Had difficulties to make my dinner, because the pans wouldn’t stop moving and my vision is a little blurred so it was hard to grab the real pans._

_Macaroni and cheese tastes like crap._

_Actually tastes like coal, even though is not burned._

_I wish Hannibal would come home to cook for me._

 

_00:08 AM_

_Not sleepy._

 

_05:40 AM_

_Did not sleep. Went to the porch to watch the sunrise. All those colors and lights flashing around me made my head hurt._

 

_August 18, 8:16 PM_

_I’m Druenk._

 

_9:08 PM_

_THREW THE BOTTLE ON THE WALL BECAUSE OF THE BIRDS SCREAMING._

 

_9:43 PM_

_WHERES HUNNIB? Y HE ISNT HOME YET??_

 

_10:45 PM_

_Fock these._

 

_10:75 PM_

_I shld havy died on hisss place._

 

_NOT SURE THE HOUR_

_Hann?_

 

_????_

_Shouldn’t drank. Vomiting._

 

_???? Around 01:00 AM_

_Why_

 

_???_

_My hands tangling I want to_

_cut them_

_Off_

 

_????_

_Something hot iS coming out of MY mouth._

 

_03:51 AM_

_Just woke up inside the bathroom with the shower on._

_Not sure what happened._

 

_06:28 AM_

_Read above and I guess I got drunk which made the drug effects worse._

_My throat hurts._

_Dry mouth._

 

_August 20, 8 AM_

_I have a class in 40 minutes and my senses are increased._

 

_11 AM_

_Jack came to my classroom after the students left and he was surrounded by antlers, all over him, like in Hobbs’s cabin._

_Jack did not noticed anything strange._

 

_August 22, 9:32 AM_

_Late for work. Had a burst of rage last night and my eyes are swollen from crying. At least I slept._

 

_August 24, 5:11 PM_

_Chilton changed the mix of the chemicals in the drugs again. Even though he is an idiot I wish I had not shouted at him like I did. But everything is annoying me deeply this week._

 

_06:19 AM_

_I woke up on the roof, just like when the encephalitis symptoms first appeared._

_Great._

 

_August 26, 10:02 PM_

_Things are reaaaaall_ y odd today.

_There are two pigs walking around my house and I can’t find HANNIBALS DOG. I know he hates me bytaahsiidw_

_Sorry. The pig wanted mY attention._

 

_10:24 PM_

_Everything is moving so fast and the lights are flashing all the time, sound is quite distant but ok._

_Oh, hey Alana!_

 

August 29, 11:36 PM

 

Will left the kitchen holding loosely the glass of whiskey in one hand, heading to the living room.  
  
"What the hell?!"

Garret Jacob Hobbs was seated in Will's armchair. Beside him, the ravenstag, with its head down so he could stroke its fur.  
  
Hobbs smiled with his corpse rotten teeth, his eyes just two white balls, pupils gone.  
  
Will sighed.  
  
To help, the whole house seemed to be shaking, so Hobbs's image was like a TV transmission with bad signal, drizzling.  
  
"Did you miss me?" Hobbs laughed, his voice with a very thin,  high pitch.  
  
_Oh, Lord_ , Will thought, bringing the glass to his lips with difficulty.

"What's wrong with your voice?" He asked.

Hobbs answered, now with a low pitch voice. "There is nothing wrong with my voooooiiicceee."  
  
Will stared at the stag. Somehow, he missed it.  
  
"He missed you too." Hobbs said, now with a normal voice.  
  
Snakes slowly appeared from behind the armchair, coiling in Hobbs's ankles. He did not seemed scared.  
  
Will slowly walked further, coming closer to the stag. It gave a step forward, lowering it's head so Will could stroke it. Unsure of why he was doing it, but enchanted by the glimmering dark fur that seemed so soft, Will touched the stag’s head between the antlers. He watched as his hand seemed to melt into the deer's fur, his fingers gone and being part of that dark softness.  
  
Hobbs turned to gaze Will. "Matyti*"  
  
"What?!"  
  
"It's lithuanian." The man explained.  
  
Will laughed. "Since when do you think I know lithuanian? By the way, since when do _you_ know lithuanian?!"  
  
Hobbs gave a smirk. "It's 'See'."  
  
Will rolled his eyes. "Not this again."  
  
The dead man laughed. "See..."  
  
"Oh, shut up!"  
  
"See, Will." He said with his sibilant voice.  
  
"No, I don't want to see anything!"  
  
The snakes around Hobbs's feet raised their heads, putting their tongues out. The ravenstag made a strange noise, something between a roar and a bark, calling Will's attention.  
  
Will took a step back, surprised. There was a black snake in the place where it was suppose to be Will's hand, it's head up and it's red eyes gazing Will with ferocity. The stag’s antlers metamorphosed in front of Will's eyes, becoming two big snakes, flicking their tongues and gazing him.  
  
" _See._ " The snakes and Hobbs sibilate in unison.  
  
"See." The stag spoke with Will's voice, raising it's head so it's eyes would be in the same level of Will’s eyes. "See."  
  
Will looked inside the stag’s eyes, and they reflected Will with his bruised face and a man in a blue suit behind him.  
  
Will gasped, his breath disappearing.  
  
" _See_."

He slowly turned on his heels, his heart racing hard and loud.  
  
"You look like a man who suffered a irrevocable loss." Hannibal smiled.  
  
The whiskey glass shattered on the floor with a sharp noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I do not know lithuanian so I used google translator which can't be trusted, so if you know the right word tell me.
> 
> Hi again! Did you enjoy this chapter? I hope so!  
> First of all, I do not do drugs so I had to make a gigantic research (and by that I mean asking my friends at 3 AM what is like to use drugs I know they never used + formal google research), so this drug Will is taking won't have a name so it won't react like the real drugs. I'm trying to make something smart of this, so if you have any tips I'll love them!  
> BUT, HERE COMES THE HELP I NEED: Hannibal is coming back!!! So, I'm thinking about writing some romantic and crazy scenes between our favorite couple (because after all this is just side effect of the drugs) SO, PLEASE, I need you to share your ideas with me. Anything. Any crazy stuff. Any fluff. Angst. Anything at all. This is the drug - also AU - universe, so share anything with me. First because I'm out of ideas, but mostly because I want to hear what you guys would like to see happening here. I'll also post this on tumblr so any ideas you come up with can be sent here, on tumblr or any other of my social networks (just ask me). And since I'm waiting for - divine - fan intervention, chapter 12 might take a longer while to be online.  
> MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL THINGS, NOTHING HERE IS VEGETARIAN. AND I LOVE YOU ALL!


	12. Dante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Will’s dogs is suffering from depression. Meanwhile, Will keeps trying to have Hannibal back by using Chilton’s drugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! As usual, sorry for taking so long. Hope you all like this chapter, and see you on the end notes!

“I saw him.” Will explained again, breathless. He seemed like an euphoric children, tossing to the winds the great wonders of the universe, that no adult actually cared about. He couldn’t help it, his excitement was too big and too desperate for him to be able to stop it. “He was there, in front of me. He smiled and spoke to me.”

Chilton wrote everything down on a notebook with dark purple cover, a smile of joy in the corner of his mouth. 

Will continued. “And then he vanished. He appeared in a flash in front of me and disappeared.”

“That’s good.” Chilton pointed, still writing something down. “It means at some level the drug reached a part of your brain that creates connections with the memories and images you have of him. What we will do now is a fMRI (functional magnetic resonance imaging) to create a map of your brain’s neurological connections about him. We will later repeat this exam with you under the effect of the drug to understand how - and if - the drug is being able of doing the same connections.” 

“Ok.” Will nodded. “What about the other effects?”

Chilton left the pen above his papers. “What effects?”

“The lights, my senses intensified, the odd hallucinations… Normal drug's effects. I don’t want them.”

Chilton smiled. “Some might stay, specially your intensified senses, but the most will go away when we get where we want.” He said with a proud tone on his voice.

Will nodded. “When can I do the exam?”

“Tomorrow morning. Please make at least 4 hours of fasting, and bring some photographs and objects you have of him that are emotionally meaningful to you.” 

 

They showed Will image after image of Hannibal, most from the psychiatry forums and conferences he went, others from Freddie Lounds stupid website. In the middle Will saw some of the pictures he brought, even though they were very few. He went back to the house in Baltimore, opened that metal chest and picked more or less four photographs in the photo album. He didn’t want to share those new found pieces of his husband with Frederick Chilton. What he indeed brought in a great amount were tickets, from art museums, concerts, trips, pieces of paper that would not mean much to Chilton but could bring a smile back on Will’s face. He remembered all of those moments with joy. 

What Will didn’t expect was to hear Hannibal’s voice, low, like whispering in his head from the headphones he was using to do the exam. It was from an interview Hannibal made for a television channel in one of the conferences he went in Amsterdam. 

Against his will, he felt a teardrop coming down his cheek. Will fought not to find a way of raising his hand to quickly wipe the tear away, because he knew Chilton could see him and the last thing he wanted was to be seen crying. 

The exam was a full Hannibal experience, mapping all Will’s senses, from visual images to sensing the perfume on one of the sweaters Will brought. 

On the afternoon, they did the exam again after drugging Will. He was scared of how he might react or what he might say, but it wasn’t like he had a choice.

 

“So?” Will asked, tying his boots after the last exam. Chilton first glanced at him as if examining his state of mind, then opened a smile. “We are doing amazingly fine. I’ll skip the…”

Will stopped listening, distracted with dust spots dancing around a sunlight beam in Chilton’s table.

Frederick snapped his fingers. “Will? Will!”

Will looked at him “Hu?”

“Focus here for a moment.”

“Sorry. Everything is distracting in this… State.” He referred to being under the effects of the drug.

“As I was saying, I’ll skip the medical talking because you won’t listen at the moment. But I will rearrange your mix and the dosage in a couple of minutes and you can go home. 

“I’m hungry.” Will commented.

Chilton rolled his eyes. Graham did not hear a word he said.

“Come with me. I’ll buy you some food.”

 

The phone rang. Will did not move, staring at the bag Frederick gave him on the last afternoon. He finally had his takeout package, and was more than excited to see if it would work.

The answering machine answered the call.

“Will?” It was a female voice. “It’s Bedelia. Dr. Du Maurier. I haven’t heard from you in a while and you don’t answer my calls, are you okay? Do you need me to go to your house? I’m concerned. Please call me as soon as you can.” Beep. 

It was like the fifth time she called. Since he went to Chilton for the drugs he stopped calling and seeing her. She wouldn’t understand. She couldn’t help him.

Will was very annoyed, feeling depressed and miserable and he would have to bathe the dogs.

He looked around, counting. 

One was missing. 

“Winston, come here.”

Winston barked, obeying. He seated next to Will’s leg and waited.

“Where is Mr. D?” Will asked in a low tone. He was so tired. What he actually wanted was to swallow a bunch of sleeping pills and sleep for a week, but he knew better; the nightmares wouldn’t let him rest. 

Winston looked around, smelling the air, and then ran to the kitchen, barking in a way that Will knew was “follow me” in dog’s language.

Entering in the kitchen, Will took a long time to finally find the dog. 

“Good job, friend.” Will patted Winston’s head and watched as he left running to play with the others. Mission accomplished.

Will took a deep breath and sighed. That was going to be hard. 

He kneeled on the floor, bending his upper body. There he was, underneath the oven.

A big black belgian sheepdog twisted all uncomfortable under the oven.

The wave of sadness that touched Will took his breathe away. “Hey.” He whispered with broken voice. 

The dog opened it’s eyes and stared Will. 

“What are you doing here?” Will asked.

The dog looked away, crying. When he moved, Will saw a blue fabric that seemed familiar. He put his hand under the oven and tried to pick whatever it was. D didn’t let him, but he manage to pull something that he identified as a sleeve. 

It was a sweater. 

One of Hannibal’s sweaters.

Will held the knot in his throat, trying not to cry. He extended his hand to touch D’s head. “I know. I miss him too.” He whispered.

The gazed that followed seemed to be full of understanding. That dog was so damn smart. 

Seating besides the oven, with his back on the cabinet under the sink, Will sighed. He had to do something about Mr. D. One thing was Will being depressed, the other was the dog, the dog  _ he _ choose. Mr. D was more Hannibal’s than his. 

He bent again to reach to the dog. “We need to go somewhere, okay? Help you out.”

He received a cried bark as an answer.

When Will tried to pick it up, the dog ran away to the front door. Will followed him, opening the door and going to the porch.  The animal laid down in the floor near the stairs. Will seated beside him. He waited for a while, just being there. Something in that movement made him remember when Jack found out about his wife’s cancer and Will stood there in Jack’s office, seating beside him, waiting for the man to vent. 

Mr. D moved just a little closer, crying. 

“I know.” Will sighed. “I’m sorry.” He made a pause, unsure of what to say. “I wish I could bring him back.”  _ I’m actually trying _ , he thought. “I know you don’t like me very much, but… it’s just us now. Me, you, and the other dogs. So…”

The dog stared at Will, paying attention. 

“We better become friends. I like you. A lot.” Will wasn’t lying. That dog was so clever, so… So like Hannibal that was impossible not to love it. It wasn’t that fond of Will, since it worshiped Hannibal, nor was so friendly with the other dogs - mostly because he liked more to be alone than in all the fun and mess the others did -, but he was amazing, and loved, just as all the others. “Can we try?”

Mr. D slowly raised his paw, putting it on Will’s lap. His eyes showed what seemed to be a sad but friendly gaze. Will smiled. “Thank you. Now we need to get you some help, okay? You are not doing fine and I’m worried.”

The dog made a sound similar to a snort. Will laughed, going back inside to pick the car keys and the sweater. He put it on the backseat so D could lay down with it during the trip to the vet.

When they arrived, Will was quickly answered. He was one of the oldest customers at that pet store, all the veterinarian in the place knew him and his dogs.

A young man approached them. Will didn’t know him. “Hello, I’m doctor Summers and I’ll assist you both while Dr. Peterson is finishing another consult.

Will tried to smile, frowning, and stood up, calling Mr. D to follow him. As surprisingly as it seemed, he obeyed. 

“I don’t know you.” Will commented while they entered the exam room. 

The man put D on the table. He quickly laid down and closed his eyes, as if he was very tired. 

“I’m a resident here. Still doing vet school. This is why you probably don’t know who I am, mister…”

“Graham.” Will answered.

The boy smiled, stroking D’s head. “And what is your name, mate?” 

Will replied quickly. “D.”

The doctor frowned. “Just ‘D’? That’s different.”

The door swung open, and the familiar Dr. Peterson entered. He was a middle-aged man, with puppy blue eyes and some grey hair starting to appear in his black curls, making a beautiful contrast with his black skin. “Will! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Will nodded. “It’s been a time.”

“Let me see who we have here today… D!”

The dog raised his head to the doctor with eyes of derision, as if saying “not you again”. Dr. Peterson patted its head with a gentle smile. “I still can’t get over his name.” He commented. “Probably one of the funniest I’ve seen.” 

The young doctor frowned. When Will noticed, he was already explaining the story. “My husband found him, and he couldn’t come up with a name so he just called him Dog.” Will tried to afford a smile, remembering Hannibal’s proud face for collecting his own stray. “I thought it was too ridiculous so I changed it to D.” 

“Oh.” The boy laughed. 

“What brings you here?” Dr. Peterson asked, half to Will, half to the dog. 

Will sighed. “He seems depressed. He is not eating, nor playing - not that he used to play much but still… He basically sleeps. And cries.”

Dr. Peterson looked to his student. “Summers?”

The boy went forward, closer to the dog and directed his questions to Will with a very professional tone. “Did you, or him, passed by any changes lately? Moving out of the house, another dog got ill, a big fight he might have witnessed…?”

Will closed his eyes. It had been too long since he took any of the dogs to the vet. They didn’t knew what had happened. “His owner… My husband. He died.” 

“What?!” 

Will opened his eyes to gaze Dr. Peterson with his mouth in a ‘o’ of shock. “Hannibal… How did… I’m so sorry, Will.”

“Thank you.” Will stared at his shoes. He never knew what to say in those moments. 

The doctor shook his head, assuming a professional posture. “I’ll take a look on D now, okay? If you want you can wait in the waiting room.”

Will left, carrying this known knot on the throat. 

_ Would it ever be easier to talk about his death? _

He knew the answer: no. 

In less than thirty minutes, Dr. Peterson came to talk to Will. “There is nothing wrong physically with D, he is just under weight. I think the main issue is his depression, but is not severe, so I don’t think we will need to give him any medication.”

“What should I do?” Will asked.

“Keep an eye on him, mostly, and try to keep him company, make sure he is eating, and try to make him get along with the other dogs. In resume, just give him more attention. If in one month you think that he did not improved, bring him back. That’s it.” 

The younger doctor appear with D. on a leash. 

“Let’s go home, buddy.” Will smiled, patting D’s head. He waved bye to the doctors and left to the car, adjusting the blue sweater again on the backseat so D could be with it. 

In the middle of the trip back to Wolf Trap, Will turned around for a moment. “Hey.”

D raised its head, gazing Will.

“I was thinking” Will started, looking back to the road. “Maybe a more suitable name will cheer you up. But nothing so different, so we can still call you D, as he chose.” Will made a pause. He needed a name that would be on part with Hannibal’s culture and the dog’s expertise. “What about… Dante?” He tried the sound. “Dante. From Dante Alighieri. How does it sound?”

He turned his head again. D raised his head up and barked loud, happy. 

Will smiled, while going back to drive. “So Dante will be.”

 

It was late. Will was sitting in his armchair, Dante laid near his feet with Buster trying to lay on D’s belly as a pillow. Surprisingly, the bigger dog didn’t complain. 

The syringe in his hand was getting warm. Will couldn’t make himself inject the medicine, nor could let it go. He was very tired, sleepy. He totally couldn’t deal with another wave of crazy hallucinations with walls moving and odd animals walking around the house. Yet, in his hand laid the newest mix of drugs, promised from Chilton - even though his promises had provisos - to be  _ the one _ . Will had never been so close to the expected effect, and this was both exhilarating and frightening at the same time. 

He took a deep breath, hoping it would work, and pushed the needle down his arm. He disposed the garbage and went back to his armchair, resting his head on its back.

Feeling his head get lighter, Will closed his eyes. Perhaps he would fall asleep. He was so tired that it wasn’t a bad idea at the moment. 

“You are going to hurt your neck laying this way.” 

Will opened his eyes abruptly, his heart racing. 

In front of him, Hannibal smiled, wearing black pants and a white blouse with the sleeves up, elegant yet comfortable. 

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

Will looked around, adjusting his posture on the armchair. He was a bit dizzy, probably from raising his head too fast. The house seemed the same. Nothing out of place, nothing moving.

Looking down, the dogs were still dogs.

He raised his eyes to the man in front of him, unable to make their eyes meet. It would hurt too much.

Hannibal waited.

Will sighed. “Strange seeing you here in front of me.” He confessed.

“I missed you.” Hannibal’s smile grew bigger, his voice so soft and welcoming that Will almost ran to it. 

Almost.

He knew it was just a vision.

It would fade away within seconds as the previous times. 

“I  _ miss _ you.” Will answer.

Hannibal frowned. “What is wrong?”

“I have a million words to say to you, yet… I can’t say not one at the moment.”

“We will have time.” Hannibal answered.

Will sighed again. “I don’t think so. You will disappear at any moment.”

“I’m standing here for over five minutes.” The older man pointed. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere.” 

“We’ll see.” 

Hannibal smiled again, extending his arms. “Can you come here?”

With doubts, Will stood up and went near him. It was impressive how real he looked. Will could sense his smell, as perfect as he remembered it was. It was hard to look at him, so close. 

Will felt vulnerable, exposed. 

“How are you feeling?” Hannibal asked in a low but warm tone. 

Will burst out into tears, a sob so deep he felt like his chest would crack in two.

“Hey. Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.” Hannibal gently stroked Will’s cheek, his warm hand soft.

Will sobbed even more. 

“Please, my love. Don’t cry. I’m here.” Hannibal kept stroking Will’s face, that pretty, angelical face.

Hannibal’s touch was like heaven on Will’s skin.

Touch?

Will suddenly stopped crying, in shock. 

“I can feel you.”

Hannibal smiled. “I can feel you too.”

“No, I mean… I can really feel you! Like you are really here…”

“I  _ am _ here.”

Will raised his shaking hand to Hannibal’s cheek, touching it gently.

_ He could feel him. _

“I can touch you.” Will cried, smiling. “ _ I can feel you! _ ”

Holding the older man’s face in his both hands, Will leaned closer and kissed Hannibal.

And he felt it.

He felt every little thing. 

Hannibal kissed him back, the warmest and sweetest kiss they ever share, the kiss of two lovers that had been separated for a long, long time.

And now reunited.

_ He felt Hannibal. _

_ Hannibal was there. _

_ Hannibal came back. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare the heart for the next chapters, there will be lots of Hannigram fluffiness, and the crazy stuff caused by the drugs that I asked on chapter 11. 
> 
> P.S: I'm not sure if the exam is really an fMRI, it was the close result I found.  
> P.S 2: I'll be posting on tumblr some things about Dante and there will be a new video soon!
> 
> See you next chapter my babies!


	13. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Touch gives the world an emotional context. The touch of others makes us who we are." - Bedelia Du Maurier, Hannibal 3x12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting out of battery but merry christmas, love you all and I'll be editing this chap as soon as I find a computer and my charger.
> 
> \--------------  
> 28/12 - Hello! The chapter is properly edited now and I have battery so I wanted to - again - apologize for all this time without any updates. I got a job and I had terrible emotional moments between october and november that made me unable to do anything much less write the fic, but I hope you are still here and still liking the fic as much as I do, and it can take a long time for me to post but I'm not giving up on the fic and I'll still be writing, okay?  
> So, merry christmas, happy new year and happy 2017! Anything you need, message me on mortvivante.tumblr.com and good reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Songs:  
> My Love - Sia  
> Fire in the Water - Feist  
> Touch - Daughter  
> This Will Make You Love Again - IAMX  
> Turning Page - Sleeping at Last

It is funny to notice how perception sometimes goes completely on the other way of reality.

  
For Will, it felt like everything was moving in slow motion, even though he knew it wasn’t. Too quickly clothes were on the floor; from one moment to the other he wasn’t anymore on the living room, but he was in the bed.  
If he knew the effect that using drugs would bring to _this_ , oh, he certainly would have tried that before. Well, once he and Hannibal drank too much mushroom tea, but… Nothing could compare to this.

  
He could feel _everything_. Every pore of the skin he was kissing, every nerve reacting to sweetest touch on his burning, needy, body. And it felt like a completely new experience…  
Hannibal was _everywhere_. They were hands and legs entangled in a mess and Will was sure he was melting under Hannibal’s lips, melting, meeting, _becoming_.

  
Every touch was multiplied, every move, intensified. Every breathe or moan was dancing in the air surrounding them as if they were in a dome, up in the air and still running deep through the spine, awaking every cell.

  
Will fell deep into the most delicious of overwhelming feelings: he was loved, protected, safe, wanted, desired. It was rough and soft all at the same, fire burning above the surface of water, a beautiful combination of what was supposed to be impossible, right there, _real_.  
Every broken parts of Will was being fixed and healed by Hannibal’s love. If that was dying, his heart racing _too_ fast, he was glad. It was ice upon a burning scratch, relieving, relaxing, _too good._ He had been rescued from Dante’s Inferno and now was in paradise. It was heaven.

 

_The teacup that I shattered did come together._

 

Will slowly opened his eyes, a smile forming in the corner of his lips. He slept the entire night, he was rested, and above all, his husband was there. Still with closed eyes, he moved his hand to touch Hannibal’s soft chest… And touched the bed.

  
Opening his eyes, Will faced reality.

  
The other side of the bed was made, in perfect order, and _empty._

  
A hot wave of pain burned suddenly in Will’s chest as he remembered. Hannibal wasn’t there.

  
It was just the drugs, their effect gone.

  
He sank down in the pillow for a moment, holding the impulse to scream.

The pillow still had Hannibal’s scent, but Will knew it was just on his mind. _It’s okay_ , he thought. _I will just take another shot of the drug now and it will all be better._

  
Before he could do anything related he heard a noise coming from the kitchen. He didn’t want to stand up, but it was better to go check on whatever the dogs were doing before someone got injured. Sighing, Will left the bed, wore his boxers and went to the kitchen.

  
Hannibal turned to him, a huge smile on his lips and a frying pan in one of his hands. “Hello, love.”

  
Will stood still in the doorway, staring with shock. “You’re… You’re here.”

  
Hannibal’s smile grew even bigger. “Where else would I be?”

  
“I… I…” Will babbled. “The drug… You know…” He wasn’t getting success in forming the words.

  
“According to the - if we can call it so - instructions, the effects last for 12 hours.” He raised his head to check the clock above the sink. “You have a little less than an hour.”

  
Will scratched his chin, uncomfortable. How could he talk about that with him? ‘Hey, uh, just so you know, you are an effect of a drug I’m taking, ok?’ It didn’t seem right.

  
“I know what you are thinking.” Hannibal turned back to the oven, paying attention on whatever - delicious - food he was cooking. “I know that what I am now is a recreation of your mind, Will. Even though I’m not fond of you being _treated_ ” he said with an ironic tone “by Frederick Chilton, I am delighted.”

  
Will took a step closer, frowning.

  
Hannibal continued. “I know I died. My body is dead, at least. What is left of me lives in the memories of people whose life I encountered.” He turned again, now with his hands free, and pulled Will closer by his hips. “And I am happy that I am vividly alive, if we can say so, here. _I’m with you_ , Will.” Their eyes met, and Will felt like crying again. “All I want for us is to be together.”

  
“We’re alone without each other.” Will completed his thought in a murmur, raising his face to kiss his husband’s lips gently. “I don’t want to be without you anymore.” Will confessed, resting his forehead in Hannibal’s shoulder.

  
“You won’t.” Hannibal answered with a tender tone. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.” He pushed Will a bit so he could face him properly. “I will apply the drug on you, every morning, if you allow me.”

  
Will nodded. “I don’t want to be a minute without you.”

  
“Neither do I.” Hannibal smiled. “Just take a seat and I’ll give you today’s shot. Then, we can have a more or less decent breakfast.”

  
Will frowned, seating next to the dinner table. “More or less?”

  
“Have you seen your fridge? We will need to do some groceries later, but for now I managed to make a regular meal.” He smiled proudly, putting a plate in front of Will that had one egg and a piece of bread with cheese. He poured some coffee on Will’s old mug and served himself too before picking the bag Chilton gave Will. He smelled the medicine before putting it on the syringe with a curiosity look on his face. He was kneeled in front of Will, so close that the younger man had to control the urge to touch him. It was so unbelievable that he was there in front of him, and Will could actually _feel_ him. He felt the need to always be with his hands in the older man to assure himself he was there.

  
“I will study this later.” Hannibal commented, more to himself than to Will. “It’s really… Interesting.”

  
Will smiled. “Suit yourself.”

  
Hannibal gently touched the inside of Will’s elbow, searching with no hurry for the vein. He took his time, and Will knew he had already found what he needed - medically speaking - but was enjoying the opportunity to touch Will, slowly and softly stroke his naked pale skin, making Will tingle.

  
Hannibal’s fingers went upper in Will’s arms and gently felt the tenderness of his chest. He opened his palm above the place where Will’s heart was beating fast, moving his chest up and down, and closed his eyes for a moment, just enjoying.

  
Will also closed his eyes, feeling the warm touch of Hannibal’s hand.

  
“Let’s not distract ourselves.” Hannibal said, pulling back his hand and picking the syringe. Will made a funny noise of disapprovement. “For now.” Hannibal added, pushing the piston, the drug slipping into Will’s blood system.

  
They had breakfast in silence. Will ate little, too anxious for being with him again, unable to find words for a normal conversation that wouldn’t have the words “drugs” or “death” in it. He was afraid of bring up any subject that might hurt Hannibal, or that would lead to painful questions. Will drank his coffee with a frown, then finally gave up and headed to the cabinet, where he opened a new bottle of whiskey.

  
“What are you doing?” Hannibal asked calmly, sipping his coffee with no hurry.

  
“Whiskey.” Will murmured.

  
“In the morning?”

  
Will closed the bottle, leaving it on the countertop, and went back to the table with his glass, drinking a full sip before reaching his chair. _Better. Much, much better._

  
“Yes.” He replied, seating.

  
Hannibal frowned, finding Will’s movements suspicious. “You never did that.”

  
“Now I do.” Will answered promptly, as if it were not a big deal. He extended the glass “Want some?”

  
“No, thank you.” Hannibal smiled, telling himself to leave it. Will had been alone for a while, it was obvious some things would have changed. “What are your plans for the day?”

  
Will looked around, having a hard time remembering what day was. “I think I had to go to work.”

  
“Oh.” Hannibal seemed disappointed.

  
“Don’t worry.” Will smiled, standing up again and pouring himself more whiskey before leaving the kitchen. “I’ll call Jack and tell him I’m not feeling fine.”

  
Will entered the living room and noticed it was organized and clean.

  
“You didn’t have to do this.” He said out loud while picking his cellphone from above his work desk.

  
“I woke up early.” Hannibal replied from the kitchen. Will could hear the sound of the sink being opened, Hannibal was going to wash the dishes.

  
He was a bit obsessed sometimes.

  
Will dialed the Academy, waiting.

  
“Will?” It was Jack’s voice.

  
“Hello, Jack.”

  
“Is everything fine?” Jack asked with something that resembled discomfort in his voice.

  
“Yeah, hm… Well, no. I think I ate somethi-”

  
Will jumped, cold lips pressing onto his neck scaring him. Hannibal laughed on Will’s skin.

  
“Will?” Jack called on the phone.

  
“I…” He looked to his husband with the corner of the eyes. Hannibal had a naughty smile.

  
“Talk to him.” Hannibal whispered in Will’s ear, causing the hair on the back of his neck to bristle.

  
Will swallowed. “I’m sorry, I’m feeling very sick.”

  
Hannibal embraced Will’s waist, his cozy strong arms around his naked skin, and kept on tracing kisses along Will’s neck, making it difficult to concentrate on the phone call. “I think I ate something spoiled.”

  
“You sound weird” Jack affirmed. “Have you gone to the doctors?”

  
“I will.” Will gasped when Hannibal licked his Adam’s apple. He was about to let a moan escape from his lips, and Hannibal knew it. He was laughing in a low tone, amused. “As soon as I leave the toilet.” Will coughed to fake the moan that was coming out unwanted as Hannibal kissed the back of hir earlobe.

  
“Take your time.” Jack snorted, as if he already expected that to happen. “You have been sick a lot, Will. You really should take care of your health.”

  
“I will. I’m sorry.” He murmured between gritted teeth, making Hannibal laugh louder, pushing Will’s body closer to him.

  
Will rang up, turning to face Hannibal. “What on earth has come over you?”

  
“What?” Hannibal smiled, making an innocent puppy face.

  
“You never did this.”

  
“Is it bad?”

  
“Not at all.” Will answered, leaning to kiss him. “It’s just unusual.” He said between kisses.

  
“I’m missing you.” Hannibal justified, holding the back of Will’s neck and pulling him to another passionate kiss.

  
“Let’s take a bath” Will whispered some moments later, entangling his fingers with Hannibal’s.

 

 

“You’re bored.” Will noted.

  
Hannibal lowered his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose and gazed Will from above its frames.

  
“I’m not bored.”

  
“I won’t apologize for my mind palace.”

  
“You don’t have to. I like being here.”

  
Will looked around. They were seating in one of the banks of the stream in his mind palace, feeling the sun touch their skin gently. It was peaceful, calm, the low sound of the river and the occasional fishes passing by, the breeze making the leaves in the trees move a bit, birds singing in somewhere nearby. And the most important thing of all, Hannibal. Hannibal was there, seated beside him in spring clothes. It was almost summer, that time of the year when the weather was getting warmer, but not too hot yet. Will kept his eyes on his love, wondering how could he have been all those months without him.

  
“I know you prefer your mind palace.” Will mentioned, caressing Hannibal’s hand with his thumb.

  
“They are different places.” He replied. “I enjoy being here. It’s your mind, after all. Your beautiful, beautiful mind.”

  
Will smiled, leaning closer. He stopped halfway to gaze at his husband. He loved that sensation, when he was too close but not enough, his body aching to move that last inch to touch him, his mouth swollen with the wish of those soft lips on his, his heart beating loudly and fast, his vision mildly blurred, the background seeming to be far away, the sunlight framing Hannibal’s features that he loved so deeply. He loved that small moments before a kiss where the passion was so strong in the air that he could almost touch it, the love burning clear as the sky on the eyes gazing his, as two magnetics a few inches from touching, unable to be separated, meant to be together. Hannibal smiled to him, that wry smile that was only reserved to Will, never to something or someone else, and he tilted his head, moving slowly towards that kiss. It was slow, first just a gentle touch, then a deeper, then exploring all that could be felt in a kiss, fingers passionately entangled between the curls of Will’s hair, as his own fingers held the amber soft hair in Hannibal’s neck, pulling him as closer as possible, the sun touching their skin in a soft embrace. They could be like that forever, the picture framed into infinitum.

  
“Show me a memory.” Hannibal asked.

  
“Which one?” Will stood up, stretching his arms and legs.

  
“Any. A good one. With us.”

  
Will walked alongside the margin of the stream. “Our good memories are on the other side, next to that tree.” Will pointed to a leafy tree in the other side. He walked until he was in front of the tree in the other side, and without any ceremony he put his legs on the water and walked to the other side. Looking behind, Hannibal was following him.

  
It felt like they were diving deep into that stream, pulled by the strength of the memories carried within the fishes in Will's mind palace. The place around them melted, becoming blurred and watery, like oil paint, swallowing them into it. Will felt his skin melt and become part of the whole a few moments before the memory grew clearer, forming by the edges to the center.

  
They no longer were by the stream. They were in Hannibal's dining room.

  
It was a fun effect that the drugs had given to Will's memories. They were brighter and more colorful than reality, and he could place himself into the memory now, standing next to the scene like a voyeur, watching his own figure move in front of him in third person perspective. Before the drug, he only saw the memories as a movie in his head, vivid, of course, but unable to reach. Now he was _inside_ the memory. It felt like he could touch that Will and Hannibal in front of him. It was amazing.

  
"I remember this evening." Hannibal commented beside him, his tone just slightly higher than a whisper, as if not to disturb the people in the memory. The image was frozen, but slowly came to life.

  
_Hannibal was seated in one side of the big table, Will in the other head. It was just one of the nights they had an amazing dinner cooked by Hannibal._

_  
Except it wasn't just a regular night._

_  
Will and Hannibal watched their memory versions move in silent, just observing closely that moment._

_  
Hannibal wiped the corner of his mouth with the napkin, folding it again and resting it on the table. He stood up. Will followed his movements, curious. Hannibal normally wouldn't stand up until everyone in the table had finished, and even though Will had stopped eating a while ago, his glass of wine was still almost full. So as Hannibal's, he noticed._

  
"You looked so confused." The real Hannibal mentioned, pointing to the memory Will.

  
"It was an odd behavior for your manners." Will replied.

  
They kept on watching.

  
_"Do you mind if I change the music?" memory Hannibal asked. Will frowned, more confused._

_  
"No, go ahead." He answered with a suspicious tone._

_  
Hannibal went to the radio on the living room, and Will waited while he changed the music._

_  
A classical song with a chorus of voices begun. Hannibal turned up the volume, so the music would be more than background sound._

_  
Will held Hannibal's hand when the music started in the memory, now that he knew what that meant._

_  
Hannibal came back with a huge smile on his face._

_  
"Do you like it?"_

_  
"What is?"_

_  
"Patrick Cassidy's 'Vide Cor Meum'." He answered promptly._

_  
"Is really beautiful." Will closed his eyes for a moment, just listening._

_  
The music ended and started again._

_  
"They’re singing in italian or latin?"_

_  
"Both."_

_  
Will opened his eyes to discover that Hannibal was kneeled beside him, his face close enough for him to sense his intoxicating smell._

_  
"The lyrics are terrible beautiful." Hannibal commented._

_  
"Could you translate it for me?" Will asked, his tone deep and passionate. It was hard not to lean closer and just kiss Hannibal. He was so close. But he knew he was supposed to pay attention, otherwise Hannibal wouldn't have changed the music nor would be talking about it at the moment._

_  
Hannibal's voice came in Will's ear, close to his neck. He closed his eyes, feeling a delicious shiver pass by his body._

_  
"E pensando di lei, mi sopragiunse uno soave sonno.” Hannibal sang, translating it next “And thinking of her, sweet sleep overcame me. Ego dominus tuus. Vide cor tuum. I am your master. See your heart.”_

  
“E d'esto core ardendo, cor tuum” the real Hannibal sang along with his memory.

  
_“And of this burning heart, your heart.”_

_  
“Lei paventosa. Umilmente pascea. Appreso gir lo ne vedea piangendo.”_

  
“She trembling. Obediently eats. Weeping, I saw him then depart from me.”

  
“La letizia si convertia in amarissimo pianto.”

  
_“Joy is converted into bitterest tears.”_

_  
“Io sono in pace, cor meum. Io sono in pace, vide cor meum"_

_  
“I am in peace, my heart. I am in peace, see my heart.”_

_  
As the music ended, Hannibal stopped singing. Will slowly opened his eyes, noticing how they were filled with water._

_  
In his vision field, the first thing Will noticed was the velvet box resting in Hannibal's extended palm._

_  
It took him a moment to realize what was happening, and when he did, the tears burst out from his eyes, running down his cheeks furiously._

_  
Hannibal, who also had tears in his eyes, opened the prettiest smile Will had ever seen. The music begun again, but to Will's ears it was now only on the background._

_  
All he could pay attention on was Hannibal, standing in one knee on the ground, his big hand extending a small open box to Will, in which laid a ring._

_  
"Be my heart, Will. Marry me."_

_  
Will's mouth opened in a small 'o' of shock._

_  
His heart was beating despairingly fast on his chest and he forgot how to breathe._

_  
"Oh my God." He whispered._

  
"I actually thought for a moment that you would refuse." Real Hannibal said.

  
Will turned to him, tears in his eyes. "Never."

  
_"Yes... Oh God, yes!" Will cried, picking the box from Hannibal's hand and putting on the table so he could jump on his - oh goodness, fiance. They fell on the carpet, laughing and kissing and crying._

 

 

Will opened his eyes and gazed the god Hannibal was. They were lying under a tree on Will’s backyard, side by side, hands entangled, a glass of whiskey for Will and one of wine for Hannibal nearby them. Hannibal still had his eyes closed and Will took the advantage to look at his beautiful husband again, touched by the dim light of the an autumn sunset. It was mid-october, what meant in one month there would be snow covering that same grass where they laid.

  
A brown leaf fell right on Hannibal’s forehead, making him open his eyes.

  
Will laughed, pushing the leaf away.

  
“I love that memory.” Hannibal said with a smile on his mouth and eyes. “It was…”

  
“Magical.” Will completed.

  
“It’s getting cold.” Hannibal said, seating. “Do you want to get inside or I should pick up a blanket?”

  
Will thought about it for a moment. “Want to stay to watch the stars?”

  
“As long as you’re by my side.” Hannibal answered while standing up. Will did the same and went to the kitchen to pick more wine - now pouring a glass for himself - and some cheese in the fridge.

  
“Good idea.” Hannibal passed by the doorway. “Take these and change places with me. I’ll be there in a second.” He passed a blanket and a pair of pillows to Will.

  
Will was followed to the garden by Dante, sniffing around Will’s ankles. Not ten minutes later Hannibal came back with a towel, red wine and glasses, and a big plate full of fruits, cheese and cut pieces of bread decorated with slices of tomato in the borders of the plate. “We need to go to the grocery tomorrow. That’s all I could manage.” He seated next to Will, organizing the plate above the towel and pouring wine in the glasses.

  
“It’s completely fine.” Will stood on his knees so he could reach Hannibal’s head and place a kiss on his perfumed hair.

  
They ate in silence, enjoying the companionship of the other and the occasional fur to pet when a dog came near. The sky was poured with many tiny dots of stars, and the air was cold, but not enough to bother.

  
Dante stole a cheese cube from Will’s hand right before he could put it in his mouth. “Hey!” Will complained.

  
Hannibal watched, surprised, as the dog ate the cube in quick a gesture. “I didn’t know D likes cheese.”

  
“Oh.” Will murmured, slightly ashamed. “I kind of… Changed his name.”

  
“My dog’s name?”

  
Will frowned. “D is not exactly a name, right? I call him Dante now. Because of…”

  
“I like it.” Hannibal interrupted, resting his hand above Will’s.

  
Dante stole another cube from the plate and ran away before one of them did something. What they actually did was burst in laughter, the kind of laugh that you can feel the serotonin and endorphins running in your system and you feel instantly well, the kind that you cry and laugh at the same time. Will felt so good, so complete, like everything was in its right place again. And Hannibal was by his side, his astonishing beauty a finger away from touch.

  
“What are you looking?” Hannibal asked, his tone deeper while he gazed Will’s blue eyes.

  
“I love you.” Will murmured, holding Hannibal’s face between his palms and touching his lips softly and passionately.

  
The kiss grew deeper, kisses being poured on Will’s neck, and before they spread, Will was surprised by being hugged.

  
“I miss you, my love.” Hannibal confessed.

  
Will sighed, pushing both of them to lay above the blanket, still embraced. He stared at the stars for a while, feeling the warmth of Hannibal’s chest below his face, those safe arms surrounding his body and he let himself take a deep breathe of relief.

  
“I miss you too.” Will whispered, eyes still gazing the stars. “I looked up at the night sky when I couldn’t sleep and you weren’t here.” Will said. Hannibal murmured for him to continue, also staring at the sky while playing with Will’s curls laid in his chest. “Orion above the horizon and near it Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. I wondered if our stars were the same, wherever you were.” Will felt dumb by saying that, but still it was what was in his heart and he had no reservations with his husband. There were no lies, no secrets among them.

  
“I believe some of our stars will always be the same.” Hannibal smiled, raising Will’s chin up so their eyes could meet. “You entered the foyer of my mind and stumbled down the hall of my beginnings.”

  
Will smiled in return, and half seated to reach Hannibal’s lips. They kissed for a brief moment, them laid again to watch the stars.

  
A couple of minutes later, Hannibal called Will in a low tone, afraid the younger man had slept on his chest.  
“Hm?” Will murmured in return.

  
“Let’s go home.”

  
Will leaned on his elbow to gaze Hannibal. “We _are_ in home.”

  
Hannibal shook his head in a negative way.“I meant _our_ home.” He made a pause, studying Will’s confused countenance. “In Baltimore.”

  
Will trembled, remembering the awful moments he had the last time he went to that house. “I really would like to, but… I can’t. I can’t stay there alone.” He confessed.

  
“You’re not alone, Will.” Hannibal squeeze his husband’s hand in order to comfort him. “I’m standing right beside you.”

  
Will took a deep breath. It was true, though. Hannibal _was_ there.

  
He smiled, considering. He got used to that house as being his own after the years he lived there since they got married. “Okay, then. We can start to go by the morning.” Then he laid back on Hannibal’s chest.

  
As Hannibal begun to read in a low tone a poetry book Will hadn’t seen he brought to the backyard, Will closed his eyes, smelling the sweet scent of Hannibal’s clothe. He was almost fully relaxed when it hit him.

  
Of course it would, he thought with a sigh. It always would hit him. In moments of perfection, where everything seemed to be where it was supposed to, the world’s particles lying in their place of belonging place, Will would feel it. Every time he lived a good moment and he had the consciousness of how every little thing was in harmony, where it was meant to be, the consciousness of the fragility of the moment would perforate down his skin as a cold crystal spike, cutting slowly and making it burn in deep agony. The most perfect it seemed to be, the more profound would be this moment of agony. It could last just a second or change his entire mood, but it would come, every time he was too happy. It was the consciousness that it _won’t_ _last_. That instant was fragile like crystal, and its perfectness would break, pieces splashed onto the floor of reality like a shattered teacup. He inhaled deeply, his breath shaking by the pain that it could all end in a second. That he did not know how long he would have Hannibal by his side and by what costs. The realization that he wasn’t actually there, it was just an induced effect… It was maddening.

  
Hannibal gently squeezed Will’s arms without saying a word. The younger man felt immediately better, allowing himself to relax. As the older one kept stroking his skin and often his hair, Will quickly fell asleep in that embrace that meant what Hannibal had just said. _I’m here. I’m standing right beside you._

 

 

It was happening again.

  
All the sounds were amplified, the gasp for life and the heartbeat monitors beeping loud that there was no heartbeat at all.  
Will kept pushing Hannibal’s chest down, trying to wake him up, and every time Hannibal’s body moved it was only to send another wave of blood in Will’s hand and face.

  
“Come on!” Will screamed. “Come on, breathe! You’re not dying Hannibal! No! Please!” The joints of his fingers were turning purple and burning with the effort to make his heart beat again.

  
He couldn’t stop.

  
He couldn’t die.

  
“Hannibal, no! No! Please wake up.”

  
“ _Wake up_ ” a voice echoed in distance. Will couldn’t hear it. The constant beep of the machine was deafening and the air smelled like blood, everything around them in red ink and he was the only one there to save him… And he was failing. Again.

  
“ _Wake up.”_

  
“Hannibal, please, please! Don’t!”

  
Hands in his shoulder made him scream harder.

  
Will shook his head quickly because suddenly everything was dark and he had no idea of where he was.

  
“Will. Breathe. Wake up. Breathe.”

  
Will looked around, his chest moving fast as he gasped for air. A handsome pair of eyes in a scandinavian face was gazing him with worry.

  
“You’re here.” He whispered in the dark, those eyes holding him more than the hands on his arms, bringing him back to reality.

  
“I’m here.” Hannibal answered with a smile in the corner of the mouth. His hand reached for Will’s fingers, comforting him. “It was just a dream. Look around.”

  
Will seated, passing his free hand on his sweaty hair.

  
His hands.

  
He quickly lowered his hand and stared at them in shock.

  
They were clean. No blood, not a drop, only his normal pale sweaty hands.

  
He still wasn’t sure of where he was.

  
Hannibal noticed his confusion and turned to pick his wristwatch.

  
“Will?”

  
“What time is it?” He whispered with a cracked voice, more to himself than anything. What happened? What happened with all the blood?

  
Where was he?

  
It seemed a known place, but he wasn’t sure of where. Everything seemed distant.

  
“It’s a quarter past three.” Hannibal answered, showing him the clock.

  
Will closed his eyes tight, trying to control his breath.

  
“It’s a quarter past three.” Will said. “A quarter past three. I’m in…?” He turned to Hannibal.

  
Hannibal smiled, understanding what he was trying to do. “You’re in Wolf Trap, Virginia.”

  
“It’s a quarter past three. I’m in Wolf Trap, Virginia and my name is-”

  
“Will Graham.” Both said together, Hannibal picking Will’s hand again. “You’re not alone.” Hannibal completed. “We are here together.”

  
Will stroke his face one more time and closed his eyes.

  
_I’m in my house in Wolf Trap. Nothing happened._

_  
He is here._

_  
And there is no blood._

  
Will slowly opened his eyes and finally was able to recognize his own bedroom.

  
“Thank you.” He said in a low tone, his voice a bit more steady.

  
“It was just a nightmare.”

  
Will stared at his husband, feeling the warmth of his hand.

  
“Terrible nightmare. I should be used by now.” He sighed.

  
“I’m here.” Hannibal repeated. “I’m safe.”

  
“I screamed, didn’t I?”

  
“My name mostly. You begged for me to come to you.”

  
Will lowered his eyes to their entangled fingers, tears starting to blur his vision. He didn’t want to cry in front of Hannibal.

  
“You were dying.” Will pressed his eyes to contain the tears. “I couldn’t… Save you.” His voice was cracked again.

  
“I’m here.” Hannibal reassured one more time.

  
“I know.” Will tilted his head up, taking a deep breathe. “I’m going to clean my face and have a glass of water.” He said while standing up, the tears fighting to leave his eyes. He avoided eye contact.

  
“Do you need anything?”

  
“I’ll be right back. You can sleep.”

  
Will tried to avoid looking at Hannibal because he knew he would cry and would make his husband worried, so he tried to be discrete as he entered the bathroom and let the knot on his throat leave freely, hot teardrops coming down his cheeks, his hands shaking with the adrenaline of the dream.

  
He was silent because he didn’t want to worry Hannibal, but what Will didn’t know is that he was being watched ever since he left the bed. He tried to be cautious in the kitchen but Hannibal saw when he poured himself a glass of whiskey instead of water and drank it all in a single sip and he was being watched when he tried to make no sounds while opening the bag and filling the syringe with another dosage of the drug. He thought for a moment about how damage he could be doing to his body without knowing but his hands were shaking badly and he knew he couldn’t bear to risk opening his eyes and not having Hannibal by his side, doesn’t matter how this could be dangerous to his brain and body, and he couldn’t care when he pushed down the piston on his arm that that was the second dosage of the day and he shouldn’t be taking more than one shot per day, he couldn’t bother to think that he would end up addicted, he just needed to know that Hannibal would be there when he opened his eyes again.

  
And Will tried to do this in silence but he was being watched by the bedroom’s doorway. Hannibal also hid the expression he had in that moment, saving it for now because he knew Will couldn’t see it, but it was there anyway. His tired eyes and mouth curved in worry and that low sigh coming out of Hannibal’s lips were undeniable, and as he stood there watching; the doctor felt terrible sad, for his love was destroying himself piece by piece and there was nothing Hannibal could do but watch, see the train in its unstoppable track to wreck itself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Hope you liked this chapter. It is very visual for me, I wanted to do some drawings but obviously I probably won't because I'm terrible at drawing, but anyway... I'll update the playlist and stuff on tumblr as soon as I can use a comouter because I'm traveling only with my iPad. Please don't abandon me, I really love having each of my readers! 
> 
> Again, merry xmas and happy new year!


	14. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thin line between the benefits and the damages of Will’s drug treatment grows thinner, as the line between reality and fantasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Well, for this year of 2017 I'm going to promise I'll post at least one chapter per month, this way I have plenty of time to write and edit and everyone get's happy. Should we set a day that I should post each month? Or a random day at the month will do?
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I see you at the end notes!! 
> 
> Musics:  
> So Far - Ólafur Arnalds  
> In This Shirt - The Irrepressibles  
> Flightless Bird, American Mouth - Iron & Wine

Two weeks later and it felt like they had never left the yellow brick house, as if nothing had changed, that Hannibal’s  trip to Denver was nothing more than a dream, where he never had to come back because he had never actually left. In their dream house it was like they hadn’t been apart and missed each other so they chose to stay at home instead of driving to the secret house by the ocean; the metallic sound of a bullet leaving the barrel of the gun and the smell of vivid, red blood nothing but a scene on a movie they watched on a thursday night when Will was too tired to go out for another one of Hannibal’s favorite fancy nice places to spend time together. 

Dante was cheerful again, playing with the dogs and eating well, his tail moving fast and excited as he followed Hannibal to the dog’s house when he was going to seat on his armchair for an afternoon reading.

Sleepy, Will went to the bathroom to splash some water on his sweaty face. It was oddly hot for the end of autumn. He opened the sink and let the cold water refresh his hands. He studied his fingers, that absurd sensation that his arms were aliens, body parts of someone else, stranger to him. Those arms seemed thinner than he remembered, purple lines and wrinkles of a much older man. Yet, when those unfamiliar hands rose, he watched by the mirror as the water reached his eyes and cheeks, and the place where the arms ended was attached where his shoulder began, an undeniable proof that they belong to his own body. Splashing water on the back of his neck, something caught his attention on the reflected image in the mirror. Behind him, above the cabinet of towels and medicines laid the bag Chilton gave him, opened. That would be normal, since Hannibal was giving him his shots of the drug there, a hygienic place to take his medicine, except for something. The bag was full. It had new syringes and a new pack of bottles with the drug.

The last time he saw that bag it was almost empty. 

Will was sure it was almost empty, he could remember telling Hannibal he would have to go to Chilton. 

A cold sweat dripped down his spine as he went closer to the bag. Full.

_ It’s impossible.  _

_ I’m hallucinating again. _

With a shaky voice in trembling lips, he called “Hann! Hannibal?!”

Will heard as the man dropped the knife in the sink and trotted upstairs. 

“What’s wrong?” He had big concerned eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Will turned on his heels and pointed to the bag. “Can you see that?”

Hannibal frowned without understanding. “Your medicine’s bag? Yes, why? What’s wrong?”

Will’s voice trembled as much as his hands when he stared at his husband. “ _ It’s full. _ ”

The lines of worry in Hannibal’s forehead only grew bigger. “Yes…”

Will rubbed his face, sweating again. “It wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not following you here.”

Will couldn’t get his eyes out of the bag.

“The bag. It’s full, right?” Will asked again.

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t.” Will’s shaky lips tried to explain his thoughts. “The bag. It was almost empty. I told you this morning, when we were- we were in bed. I said I would need to go to Chilton for more. I… I don’t understand.”

Hannibal held Will’s wrist, counting his pulse, assuming a more professional posture. “When did you say we had that conversation?”

“This morning. Right before you went to the kitchen to do us breakfast.”

Hannibal also checked Will’s forehead for his temperaturE. He was warm, but not enough for a fever.

Holding Will’s hand and gazing his husband with his doctor face, Hannibal’s lips moved slowly. “We had this conversation three days ago.”

“Wha-What? No, no”

“Yes. This morning I woke up around two hours before you, fed the dogs, watered the plants in the porch, came back to watch you sleep and when you began to move more around the bed I went downstairs to do us the breakfast.”

“But we- we…” 

Will’s mind was having a hard time connecting the dots, and a big old fear slowly begun to crop on his spine. 

“We talked about your meds three days ago. And we went to Chilton in the same day, after lunch. I went with you but you asked me to stay in the car because you didn’t want to Frederick to see me” he smiled, stroking Will’s fingers “even though we know that’s impossible.”

Will could feel the sweat dripping down on his forehead. “I don’t… I don’t remember any of this.” He tried, easily imagining the scene that Hannibal had just described, but he couldn’t. His mind was empty.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Will coughed, confused. “Waking up. You by my side. We kissed. I snorted and you asked me what was wrong. So I told you I wasn’t very happy to think about going to Chilton but that I needed to go anyway because the drug was… Ending. Then…” He made a pause as if waiting for a fresh memory to present itself. “Then I was entering the bathroom to wash my face and the bag was full.”

“You’re losing track of time” Hannibal threw the diagnosis in the air. Will almost could see between them the unspoken word.  _ Again. _

_ You’re losing track of time, again. _

The men stared at each other for a moment as the panic grew bigger inside Will. They stared at each other in silent fear, only broken when Hannibal murmured “the phone is ringing” a second before Will could hear, as if he could smell the changes in the electricity. 

“Let it ring.” Will whispered in a shock state. “It’s not important. Do you think-?”

Hannibal pressed Will’s fingers tighter. “Mostly probably is a side effect of the drug. You know you’re taking too much of it and it's heavy drugs, some bad effects would come.” 

Will’s breath was short. He couldn’t answer.

Hannibal picked Will’s other hand and put it above his own palm. “As this shaking hands you can’t control.”

Will swallowed hard. “I’m fine.” Yet, lowering his eyes to the hands between Hannibal’s fingers, he could watch as they trembled as if they were alive. He was about to have the knot on his throat transformed into tears when the answering machine made a beep downstairs and a familiar female voice echoed on the stairs towards them. 

“Hello, Will? It’s Dr. Du Maurier. Bedelia.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “Bedelia?”

“I’m sorry to be bothering” she continued “but I am concerned about you, so I went to your house a few days ago and the house seemed empty. I tried to reach your cellphone but apparently is off.”

Will sighed, being carefully watched by his husband. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw his cellphone. 

“So I thought you might have went back to this house. I don’t mean to cause you any discomfort, but if you could give me a call so I can know you’re fine… I would stop bothering.” 

The phone went silent, but the buzz was a sign she still was in the other side of the line. 

“You should answer her.” Hannibal whispered as if she could hear him.

Bedelia clear her throat. “A call, Will. Please. I owe him that. To make sure you are as fine as possible.”

Now Will raised an eyebrow to Hannibal.

“Well, you can call at any time. Hope you’re feeling fine. Bye.” And the message ended. 

Hannibal smiled. Will watched his movements with curiosity, since he was very reserved about his relationship with his psychiatrist. “I miss talking to her.” He said. It sounded like an explanation. Hannibal held Will’s face between his palms and pressed a kiss in the tip of his nose. “You should call her. I wish I could tell her that I’m thankful she is caring about you.” 

Will lowered his eyes, suddenly too tired. “I think I’m going to shower now.”

Hannibal smiled. “I’ll finish making breakfast them.”

 

Some time after lunch Will picked the phone and dialed the woman’s number. The phone rang once, twice, then the answering machine picked. With some relief that he had escaped from a real human conversation, Will cleared his throat and followed the script he had been conceiving all day. “Hello, Bedelia. Hm… It’s… It’s Will. I heard your message. I’m sorry I couldn’t pick up, I was… Busy.” He took a deep breath. Hannibal watched him from the kitchen. “Yes, I moved back to our house in Baltimore. I have to deal with it, right? Can’t run from my feelings forever. And the house needs some financial care, I have some of his bills to… Anyway. But I’m fine. As much as I can be, of course.” He added to not sound so unlike him, too fake. “I’m… Seeing a therapist.” He turned to face Hannibal, knowing he was there watching. “It’s helping. Some days more, some days less, but… It’s going.” Will made a pause. He didn’t know what else to lie about. ‘Hannibal sent you hello’ wouldn’t be the best way to end that phone call. Then he thought about something. “Thank you, really. For being worried about me. And for helping. I know he would thank you for doing so if he could.” 

Putting the phone back on the base, Will went to Hannibal’s arms, resting his head in the crook of his neck. 

“Thank you.” Hannibal whispered in Will’s messy curls. 

 

A couple of days later, suggested by a smiling husband, Will decided to shave his beard and cut his hair. Hannibal had told him his “beautiful face was too hidden”, but his true motives were that he had no patience to deal with all that hair clinging and itching his face all the time. He indeed felt much, much better with a clean face. He looked like the old self, just a few pounds thinner and with more scars. Moved by an intense desire for self care and a wave of surprisingly good mood, Will decided to go for shopping. Hannibal even raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but he meant it. He needed to be again that handsome man, at least as much as possible to be with Hannibal by his side without feeling ashamed for himself. During the years of the marriage Will found himself keen to Hannibal’s clothing style. He didn’t get use to the three pieces suit nor the blazer, but the blouses, vests and coats suited him more than he expected. 

Hannibal went with him to help him choose the best clothes he could find - after assuring Hannibal that he would buy some clothes in the internet because according to the older man the Europe had the best fabrics, “but Baltimore and its surroundings had some perfect suitable stores for a fine man”. 

Will couldn’t feel better. He was himself again. Hannibal was there. The only change was - for good - that Hannibal had no patients and Will… He couldn’t remember the last excuse he gave on the phone to Jack, even though he prepared some classes and sent by e-mail to his work colleagues. He had all time in the world just for them. A perfect bubble made only for Will and Hannibal.

 

A knock on the front door woke Dante and Winston, that went running to see who it was. Will jumped from the couch, the sound scaring him. Hannibal was seated in the armchair next to him, reading. He lowered the book on his lap and smelled the air. “It’s Alana.” 

Will sighed, standing up. He stopped in the middle of the way, staring at Hannibal. “What are you doing?!” He whispered.

“Reading.”

“Move!” Will gesticulated. “Stay in another room and be quiet, I don’t want her to-”

Another knock.

“Will, she won’t-” Hannibal started, but gave up and went upstairs. Will seemed too despaired to remember Alana wouldn’t be able to see Hannibal.

Will passed his fingers on his hair to straighten it out and opened the door.

Alana’s first expression was of shock and surprise, but she quickly changed it to a more neutral face. Will could read her, feel the waves of disappointment and sadness coming towards him from her.  _ Damn empathy _ , he thought, trying to push those feelings back to its owner.

“Hi.” Will spoke first.

“Hi.” She answered in a low, sweet tone, making him remind of a time, ages ago, when he was in love for her and she rejected him because he was too unstable. She had that same look on her face again.  _ Poor-Will _ face.

It was annoying.

Alana sighed, seeing he was waiting and wouldn’t allow her to come inside. “I don’t mean to interrupt, I just had to talk to you and you obviously don’t pick up the phone, so I had no choice but to come here.”

Will nodded, holding the dogs away from the door with his feet.

“I am going on a psychiatry conference in Greece for the next month, so I won’t be able to pick your classes for you.” 

Will waited. When he noticed she wouldn’t continue, he took a deep breath before answering. “So?”

“So?” Alana bit her lower lip with anger. “ _ Your  _ classes. I don’t know if you intend on keep having a job, but if you do, it’s your responsibility to find someone to replace you, or you have to go there yourself, since the academy doesn’t let you teach via Skype.” She said with sarcasm, starting to blush.

Alana blushed when she was angry.

“Okay. I’ll take care of it.” He replied, voice motionless.

Alana snorted. “You don’t even care, do you? About anything.”

“Why should I?” Will raised his tone. “I am perfectly fine, finally. I’m in my house, I feel good, I even took some time to take care of my body. Life is going. I’m doing great. Why should I care?”

Alana frowned so hard Will could see a vein in her forehead. “ _ You took some time to take care of your body _ ? Are you kidding me?!”

“Don’t be rude.” Will ordered, closing his lips in a thin line.

“Ha!” Alana laughed bitterly. “Are you out of your mind? Your beard is so big I bet there is an animal living in it and your hair is covering your whole face, I can barely see your damn eyes!”

Will frowned. She was saying that just to annoy him. “What the hell are  _ you _ talking about?! You come to  _ my _ house to be  _ rude _ with me?”

“I just came to  _ inform _ you about your damn job.”

“I don’t care!” Will shouted, the blood boiling inside of him. How could she be so annoying all the time, intruding in his life, being rude and pointing fingers at him like that?

Alana raised her hands up in the air. “That’s it, Will. I’m done. I said I would be patient with you because I’m your friend but… I’m done. This friendship crossed a line that I won’t allow to myself. I’m done being humiliated like that, I’m done with you, this friendship is over!”

“Good! Finally” Will shouted even louder. “I don’t want your friendship either! Just go! Get out of my house!”

Alana opened her mouth to say something else, her cheeks red, but before they could notice, Will held her by the arm holding  _ too _ tight and pushed her away, making her stumble on the doorsteps. Time froze for a second, where both of them couldn’t believe what had just happened. Then Alana walked again, holding her red arm with the mark of Will’s fingers.

Will was in shock. He never pushed someone like that. He had never been so violent, much less to a woman. He opened his mouth to say he was sorry,  _ I didn’t mean to harm you _ , but she’d already entered the car and was leaving. 

He closed the door in shock. Hannibal was in front of him, also surprised. 

Will looked down to his shaking hands and was once again filled with anger.

Why he’d done that?!

Why?

What was happening? Why he seemed so over his mind all of sudden?

Well, she shouldn’t have been rude to him… That was no excuse. 

“Goddamnit!” Will shouted, staring those  _ stupid  _ shaking fingers.

“Will?” Hannibal called.

Will tried to control his temper and his breathe, standing as still as possible and closing his eyes. 

A moment later he seemed to be better, except he wasn’t.

Taking a deep breathe as if calming himself, Will took the glass of water that was above the coffee table and threw it on the wall, screaming “ _ FUCK!” _ .  

 

The audience stood up to applaud as soon as the last note died in the air. The actors and singers on the stage bent to receive the audience’s ovation. Despite the irony of the opera Hannibal chose for them to watch - Monteverdi’s Orpheus - Will had tears in his eyes, as his husband by his side. It was a brilliant piece of art, and the execution that night was perfect.

In the way out of the opera, Hannibal bought Will a flower. They kissed in the middle of the street with the passion of a new-weddly couple. They were again  _ the _ couple, the happiest pair you could see, going to dinners and concerts and  art museums - and fishing, as long as they could before the weather got too cold. 

As Will once read in Freddie Lounds absurd tabloid, the only article that didn’t made him angry, Hannibal and Will were once more the ‘FBI Husbands’, now apart from the annoyances of the bureau.

 

The door abruptly  swung open. It was late in the night, around three AM, and Hannibal was left alone, reading in the armchair in the living room, barefoot but still completely dressed in case the phone rang and he needed to leave quickly. In his right wrist, the watch he didn’t ceased to check from time to time, counting how many hours have been since Will said “I’m going out for a walk, it won’t take long”.

That was four hours before the door broke the silence again. 

“Hm” the murmured groan came along with the strong, unquestionable smell of alcohol. “H… Hi.” 

Before Hannibal could leave the armchair, Will’s body dropped in the floor, half inside the house, half out. 

Hannibal quickly ran to him. 

He gently raised Will’s body, holding his face in his palms to analyse if he had hurt himself in the fall. Will would have a big bruise in his head by the morning; it was bleeding quite a lot.

“Will?” Hannibal called, softly patting his cheeks.

Will’s eyes opened just a bit, and he murmured again something unintelligible. 

Hannibal smiled. He wasn’t hurt or ill, just extremely drunk. 

Picking Will in his strong arms, Hannibal took him to the bathroom, sitting him in the chair while heating the bathtube water. Will mumbled now and then, getting in and out of consciousness. While the water was heating, Hannibal unbuttoned Will’s shirt and took his shoes and pants off, all the actions precise with his doctor's hands and gentle as if he touched a fragile porcelain.

A fine chinese teacup, Hannibal recalled with a smile.

He put Will’s arms around his shoulder and held him by the waist, kneeling both of them in front of the toilet seat. “Will.” He called again. The blue iris surfaced looking around, confused. “You must vomit.”

“I… Nah. Duhn… Dunt want to.” Will babbled, his mouth moving clumsy. “Nah. Tir...ed.” 

“Just seat here for a while. I’ll be right back.” Hannibal positioned him with the back against the wall and went to the bedroom to pick some clean clothes and then to the kitchen. Coming back with a glass on his hands, he woke Will again. “Drink.” He ordered gently, in a sweet voice, as if Will was just a confused little boy. 

“ _ Watthiss _ ?”

“It will help you feel better.” It was a strong saline solution that would make him nauseous enough to vomit the excess of alcohol. 

Hannibal seated on the floor next to him, smiling all the time. He wasn’t angry at Will, even though he knew he should be. Yet he couldn’t make himself to be angry. Time with Will had become so rare and important that seemed useless to use it to argue. 

As he held Will’s hair back and patted his back as he vomited, Hannibal could only feel glad and love. He was happy Will hadn’t injured himself and came back home in safety.

It wasn’t the first time that happened. It used to be a rare thing, to hold his drunken husband on his arms and put him on the bath tube after a good session of vomiting, back then, before he died. It used to happen when Will couldn’t cope with a hard case, when he was too sad, or sometimes when he was too happy. He had the predisposition to be an alcoholic, so he did cared well of his drinking habits. 

Now, wetting the sponge in the warm water and stroking it against Will’s flaccid arms and legs become habitual. Twice, maybe three times a week Will would drink too much, and to be honest there wasn’t much Hannibal could do. He was already drunk and increasing the dose of the drug again when Hannibal could see. He was just glad he could be there to help him when he was out of his proper mind. Glad to be near his love again.

Will opened his eyes again, looking around. His vision was blurred and he seemed to be in somewhere wet and hot like a bath tube, but the room was spinning and he was too tired to try to understand where he was. His eyes focused in brown eyes facing him closely, with a caring and warm smile. “I’m here, love. You’re alright.”

“Hann…” He started, with a wry smile, but fell asleep before he could finish. 

Hannibal finished cleaning him, then put Will in a comfortable pajama and tucked him into bed. Changing his own clothes, he laid down in the bed next to Will, pushing the younger man closer, resting Will’s head in his chest.

Hannibal pressed a kiss on Will’s curls, whispering “I love you so” and covering them with the blankets. In his sleep, Will went near, embracing Hannibal and sighing, relaxed. 

“I love you so  _ much _ , Will” Hannibal whispered again, watching his lover’s peaceful sleep, as his own sleep didn’t came. 

 

“It was your idea to not take umbrellas.” Hannibal reminded him.

“I’m not made of sugar.” Will complained with a huge smile on his face, throwing his arms around Hannibal’s neck. “Come on, it’s just rain.”

“We are soaking wet.” The older complained.

Will asked Hannibal to go for a walk with him in a nearby park, as the autumn leaves had begun to leave the trees naked, making the ground orange and brown, and even thought it was a cold sunset in Baltimore, Will felt light and happy and he just wanted to enjoy the outside with his husband.

Now it was raining torrentially, which didn’t washed Will’s joy. They were running back home, trying to hide from the rain, but it was useless hiding under store awnings, the rain was diagonal and strong. 

“Just enjoy.” Will asked.

“I’m just worried you’re going to get a cold.” Hannibal said.  _ And that this rain will ruin our clothes _ .

“I’m not.” Will glued his lips in Hannibal’s for a brief moment. “Come on.” He pulled Hannibal by the hand and begun to run in the street, fully unprotected.

“Will!”

“You better run faster if you want to reach me.” Will laughed, letting go off Hannibal’s hand and running.

Hannibal laughed with the silly play they were doing, but still ran after Will.

Their laugher was growing bigger as they reached each other and one ran faster again, fast kisses exchanged in the pouring rain in the middle of this race to see who could get home faster.

It was childish, silly, and amazingly blissful. 

“I won.” Will laughed, stopping in the front door.

“I let you win.” Hannibal countered.

Will smiled “Idiot.”

Hannibal pulled him by the waist and pressed his lips in Will’s, that warm mouth opening to have his tongue with passion, sensing all it could from Will’s mouth. They pressed their bodies closer, the cold rain making them chill, and when Hannibal bit Will’s lip, the younger man laughed again, the most angelical sound the doctor could’ve asked for hear in his life. 

“Let’s get inside.” Will said in a low tone, opening the door and tossing his shoes away.

He suddenly felt an urge in his belly, an ache for something they didn’t do for a long while. He turned to Hannibal that was taking off his soaking wet coat and shoes. “Dance with me.” Will asked.

“Now? We are all wet. We should take a bath before we soak the carpet too.”

“Just one dance.  _ Please _ .” Will pouted, trying to convince him.

“You’re not much akin to dancing, so I can’t miss the opportunity.” Hannibal smiled, moving out of his shoes and going to the radio to select a music.

The music started slowly to fill the room, as Hannibal headed to Will, holding him by the waist with one arm, the other gently holding his hand, entangling fingers. 

They moved slowly, just a few steps to one side then to the other, their face so close that each could smell the other’s perfume, sharp by their wet clothes, hairs dripping water on the floor.

The world seemed to fade away in distance, completely unimportant as they swayed in the others arms. Will leaned and touched his forehead in Hannibal’s, their eyes gazing the other as if it were all that mattered in the whole world. Nothing could break their intense and passionate gaze. A bomb could explode on the street outside the house that they wouldn’t notice.

And they stayed that way, the music ending and starting over again, as the sun faded away and the night stars raised in the sky, the wet clothes drying stiff and glued to their bodies.

No words were spoken, because there was no necessity for it. Everything they lived together, all the feelings and all the love, it was there in their intense and unbreakable gaze, no need to be spoken. They  _ knew _ .

The sky grew darker and the night came fully but they didn’t noticed the time passing, nor how cold they were for being wet all that long, nor nothing.

The image was too beautiful, untouchable, in the quality of a good memory, framed like a photograph.

But if you looked better, it wasn’t so beautiful. The real scene was pathetically sad.

A man in his early forties, dancing alone and wet in his messy living room, accompanied by something too special that was only in his mind.

But Will couldn’t see it like that, so the world as perfect and beautiful in Hannibal’s embrace, dancing slowly for what could be the eternity.

 

Will was thinking about that night that they danced together on the living room while hearing the rain. It had been three days since that day and was still raining a lot, unstoppable, strange for the end of autumn, which only made the weather colder. Hannibal was playing the harpsichord and Will was reading a history book about the World War II when the doorbell rang.

A part of Will hoped it wasn’t Alana again because he didn’t want to fight again, but another part wished it was her so he could apologize. 

Inside, he knew it wasn’t her because Alana was as stubborn as he and if she said she was done then she was done and period. She wouldn’t come after him again. So he was quite curious to see who was there, knocking at the door in the middle of that pouring rain.

His chin fell in surprise when he saw who was. She opened a huge smile and she was soaking wet, but Will couldn’t believe his own eyes, couldn’t believe she was standing in his doorway.

“Abigail.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are your thoughts about this one? I'm not quite sure if I like it or not. But what I can say is: there will be surprises and plot twists in the next chapters!! ~ suspense music in the background ~  
> I was wondering about doing a quizz or something nice like a game to the readers and the winner could choose a plot for a Hannibal video, what do you think?
> 
> Don't forget to check the fic's tumblr: mortvivante.tumblr.com 
> 
> I love you all sweeties!!! I would be glad to talk with you at any time you want, ok? Just appear!! And see ya in the next chapter!


	15. Imago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good surprise appears in Will’s front door. Seeing his daughter again seems to be a good thing. What he is unaware is how much Abigail sees of the reality he is in that he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi angels! It's very late and I'm very sleep but later I'll write something useful here!
> 
> Songs:  
> Bloc party - The Pioneers  
> Hearing damage - Thom Yorke  
> Heart of stone - Iko  
> Red - Pieces

“Abigail.” Will said in shock. He blinked twice to make sure she was really there. When she didn’t vanish, he spoke again: “Come in! You’re soaking wet!” He opened more the door so she could come inside, and spread his arms to embrace her.

“Dad, I’m all wet” she fought, but went to his arms anyway. Will held her tight, smelling her sweet scent of pears that didn’t change in all those years. Abigail hugged him as tight as he, happy to be in a place she could call home.

“Do you want to take a bath?” Will asked, taking the backpack out of her shoulders. “I guess there are some of your old clothes in your room.”

“Yes, I will.” She said with a juvenile smile. She seemed so much older. Not in a bad way, though. She looked mature and all grow up… A woman.

Will shushed the paternal feelings while taking her to the stairs. “I know where my room is, Will.”

He laughed. “Oh. I’m sorry. Are you hungry? I can cook something while you’re on the bath.” He offered.

Abigail raised an eyebrow. “Cook? You? No, I’m fine, I can make myself a sandwich later.”

“I can cook perfectly well.” Will replied, looking to the kitchen where he knew Hannibal was waiting. She was halfway on the stairs when an idea came to Will’s mind. “Breakfast for dinner?”

Abby turned on her heels and her smile grew bigger. “Do you remember this?”

“Of course!” Will smiled too.

“Well… It seems good for me.” She answered and went the rest of the way to the second floor.

Filled with a new joy, Will went to the kitchen. Hannibal was already picking the pans, smiling as a proud father. “She’s home.”

“I know.” Will agreed with a big smile.

Hannibal leaned to kiss him. “Family reunited again.”

Will helped Hannibal to cook, listening to the sounds on the upper floor as Abigail took her bath.

Leaving her room with clean clothes, drying her hair with the towel, Abigail stopped in the hallway with the surprise of hearing Will talking.

There was someone else in the house?

She stood still, listening, searching for the second voice. But there was none, only Will’s.

“I can’t believe she came, it’s been so long, right?” He said.

No answer came, yet he kept talking.

Frowning, it took Abigail a time to understand what was happening.

Will wasn’t talking with  _ anyone _ , yet he wasn’t talking to himself.

“I know. I missed parenting too, as strange as it might seem.” Will continued.

The frown disappeared from the woman’s face.

Will was talking  _ to Hannibal. _

It was obviously something she didn’t expect. It would require a closer attention to her father than she thought.

Respectfully, she made a loud unnecessary noise while coming down the stairs so Will would know she was coming. When she entered the dinning room, dinner was served, exactly like Hannibal would do. It made her heart ache, for Will mostly, but she missed Hannibal a lot. 

He could’ve teached her so much more…

They ate in silence, sharing smiles to one another once in a while. Will ate little and took his time to watch Abigail. He didn’t realize how much he missed her until now.

When they finished eating, she offered to help with the dishes as she used to do before. Hannibal normally would cook and the dishes were Abigail and Will’s job. 

It felt like the time hadn’t passed. Will felt like these two years since she moved to New York had never happened. 

“Dad?” She called.

Will turned to her.

“Can I stay here for a few days?”

The man rolled his eyes. “Of course you can, this is your house too!”

Abigail didn’t miss the strange look Will gave to beyond the spot where she was, as if there where someone with the back against the wall, watching them. 

“It won’t be long, I promise.”

“Stay as long as you want, ok?” Will extended his hand to reach hers. “But out of curiosity, what brings you to Baltimore?” It wasn’t just for visiting. She would come - or meet them when they were going to travel - normally during holidays. It wasn’t any.  _  I think _ , Will added. 

“I came for my test at the academy. My application.” She said proudly.

Will frowned. “I thought you had given up on this.” 

“I know you’re not fond of me joining the FBI, but this is what I chose.”

“I know.” Will smiled. “I’m proud you studied all the way here, if this is what you really want, and if you need any help studying for the application… I’m here.”

Abigail smiled. They later went to the living room, seated on the couch with cups of tea and spent hours talking about Abby’s life in New York, the weather, the cases Will worked for the FBI after she left, the new dogs in the house, laughter being a common sound between them. Winston and Dante couldn’t stop hovering around her in happiness. Nor Will, to be honest.

It was long past midnight when Abigail yawned, saying she would go to bed. Will followed her upstairs and went to his room, kissing her forehead as a goodnight kiss. 

“Sleep well, dad.” Abb yawned again, like a little kid. In moments like that Will would always found himself thinking about how she was like when she was a small kid, wondering how Hannibal and he would manage taking care of a toddler. It was fun to think that, considering they barely never spoke about the possibility of having children, specially because Abigail was there before they even were a couple. But once in a while Will would imagine how it would be like to adopt a Lecter baby. 

Then he would change his mind, thinking - with reason - how terrible parent he would be.

Hannibal was laid in the bed when he entered the room, only in his sleep pants, with a book on his hands. He opened a big smile to Will. “It’s so good to have her near.”

Will threw himself in the bed with a lazy sigh after leaving the door half closed. He studied Hannibal’s features for a while, touching the skin of his husband’s shoulder with his fingertips. Hannibal closed the book and silently put it in the bedside table. When he turned back, Will’s eyes were on him, his pupils dilated with passion, impossible to resist. He pulled Will closer to him and kissed the younger man with ferocity. Will sighed, the world shutting itself away from them as Hannibal’s smell was all that mattered in that moment. He moved to be in top of his lover, his lips going to Hannibal’s neck, kissing right below the curve of his ear where he knew Hannibal was sensitive. 

“Abby is here.” Hannibal whispered.

Will murmured in protest “We will be quiet.”

Hannibal put his hand inside Will’s shirt, touching the skin of his back. “You’re never quiet.” He laughed. “And that’s how I like it.” he completed, holding Will by the waist and putting the younger man in the place next to his. 

Will snorted, but he was laughing too. “You’re right. I’ll behave.”

Abigail was having trouble sleeping, as usual. She managed to deal with the nightmares years ago, but she would always lose the battle against sleeping in a strange bed. It was like her body was expecting for her own bed and couldn’t find a comfortable position to sleep. It was an absurd, since she had slept many years in that bed in Baltimore and in the times she came to visit after she moved. She stared at the clock in the bedside table. It was 3:40 AM. Snorting, she stood up and left the room, heading to the kitchen to have a glass of water so she could take a sleeping pill. She stopped near Hannibal and Will’s room. The door was ajar, a small gap throwing light in the corridor. Even though Will had stopped talking to himself almost two hours ago, the light of the lampshade was on. It took Abigail some time to adjust her eyes and see, but the image made her hold her breath. Will was seated diagonally in the edge of the bed, his back almost full to the door. He was so thin she could count his vertebrae, one by one. His skin was covered in ugly scars, some new and some that seemed very, very old. That would be shocking enough, if it weren’t for the syringe in the inside of Will’s elbow. 

_ He is drugging himself? _

She quickly walked to the bathroom, in order to think. 

There, in plain sight, was a bag the size of a small travel bag above the sink, opened. 

Inside, dozens of bottles of medicine and packaged syringes. She picked one of the bottles, frowning while staring at the liquid that was inside and trying to read what was in the small label. 

Patient’s Name: Graham, Will

Dr: F. Chilton.

And a very long and strange chemical formula. 

Abigail couldn’t process what to think first. Hearing Will moving in the other room, she quickly went back to her room with one of the bottles in her hand and jumped in bed a second before Will opened her door. She pretend to sleep, her eyes wide open staring at the wall, her back to the door so he couldn’t see her. 

She didn’t move until she heard him closing the door slowly to not wake her up and walking away.

Without turning the lights on, she stared in the dark at the small bottle in her palm. 

Now that she  _ really _ wouldn’t sleep.

Whatever was wrong with Will, Abigail was at that moment pretty sure it was worse than she first thought.

Good thing that she was studying to become a FBI agent. 

She now had her first case. 

 

Abigail spent the next afternoon locked in her room, studying. Will offered to help but she said she was fine, so he decided not to bother her insisting. Instead, he read e-mails - three from Jack asking if he would send the classes to academy or if he would bother to appear there. Will laughed ironically. Even though he had lacked his skill as a teacher for months now, Jack refused firing him. It was quite fun. In any normal job he would be fired for much less, but not under Jack’s watch. For Jack Will’s mind was too precious and Will could bet how Jack was still hopeful that he would eventually come back to help with the cases. “A fine chinese teacup”, as Hannibal used to call how Jack sees Will. And another part of Jack, obviously, felt guilt for putting Hannibal in the middle of the FBI business, which led to his death. It was ugly and devious, but at the moment Will couldn’t care less.

If Jack eventually decided to fire him, no problem too. He wouldn’t beg.

He played with the dogs and bathed one by one as the day passed by, occasionally knocking on Abby’s door to see if she was still there or if she wanted a snack. It was good and strange at the same time to have another person in the house. The bad part was to always be in need of reminding himself that he couldn’t speak out loud with Hannibal because she would listen. 

 

Will looked around, confused. He was laid in the couch, but he couldn’t remember falling asleep or even being there to begin with.

Hannibal was seated in one of the armchairs, the one in Will’s left. He smiled “Losing track of time again?”

Will snorted, nodding.

A moment later he heard a noise coming from the kitchen. “Tea is ready!” Abby sang, leaving the room with two mugs on her hands. She extended one to the confused Will and seated with the other in the armchair on his right. She crossed her legs, comfortably adjusting herself in her seat. It was impressive to see how that suspicious girl that he once met become this self confident woman. 

Will blinked a couple of times, trying to ground himself in reality. His hand shook to much to hold the teacup in one hand, so he set it on his lap.

“Dad?” Abby sipped her tea. Will did the same, nodding. “Can we talk?” Her tone seemed serious.

Will took a deep breath, studying her face. There it was. The only subject they avoided since she came home. 

“Yes.” He said between sips.

“I know is hard for you to talk about it…” 

“But I can talk about it with you.” Will completed for her. “I know. He was your father too. Go on.”

He couldn’t avoid looking to the other armchair as Hannibal adjusted himself to hear too.

“How are you?  _ Really _ ? I know we don’t talk much about our feelings, we never did, and I really enjoy that we can share the silence without feeling awkward about it or feeling that we have to constant fill the void, but…  _ How are you? _ ”

Will even thought about it for a moment because he didn’t want to lie to her. There was no motive to.

“I’m fine.” He said, and he was glad it was true. “It’s not always easy, but… I’m much, much better than a couple of months ago. I’m glad you weren’t here to see. It’s hard, obviously and I” he coughed “I miss him… All the time” Will held the impulse to look at Hannibal again to see his expression. “But I’m coping.” He smiled.

Abigail laid her cup on the coffee table and picked something from the pocket in her pants. “This is how you’re coping?”

Will’s face become white as snow as he held his breathe. She was holding one of the medicine bottles Chilton gave him.

Feeling suddenly nauseated, he remembered the bag in the bathroom, in plain sight to anyone who entered there.

“Dad?” Abigail called, waiting.

“I…” He had no idea of what he could possible say. 

“You’re using drugs.” It wasn’t a question.

“It’s not… Drugs.” Will’s cheek begun to get red. “It’s medicine.”

“In a strange looking bottle with an even stranger formula prescribed by nobody less than Frederick. Fucking. Chilton?!” As she spoke, Will lowered his head, ashamed. “We can pretty much call it ‘drugs’.”

Will opened his mouth to retort, but he thought better. It was  _ Abigail _ , after all. If he couldn’t trust her, then everything was lost. “I know better than to lie to you.”

“Good.”

“I don’t even know what kind of things are in this” he pointed to the bottle, “And I hate some things that it does, like this” he raised his hand in the air to show how badly it was shaking “but… It makes me see… And talk… With  _ him _ . It brings him back to me.” Will finished the sentence as his voice broke, a big knot on his throat making it hard to breathe. 

Abigail put the bottle in the coffee table, sighing. 

“Dad…”

“I know.” Will interrupted. “I know what you’re going to say, but is not like a regular drug. I really can have him here.”

“Is he here right now?” She asked.

Will looked to the armchair where Hannibal waited with a curious look. Abigail turned to the armchair. “Please, stop doing this to him.” She asked.

“Abigail!” Will rebuked her.

Hannibal showed a sad countenance.

“Dad, listen. I am no saint, ok? Nor I’m trying to be. That day… The day I knew what happened…” Abby took a deep breathe. “I went to a pub with my friends in the night before and came home past midnight. I woke up past one o’clock pm that day. I was in the kitchen, wondering if I would cook lunch or breakfast, when I remembered I had left my jacket with a friend, Daisy. I knew she would be awake so I picked my cellphone to ask her to keep it for me, or if she could bring it later. I unlocked my phone and there was eight calls from Alana. Eight. I knew something was wrong right away. I used to talk to her once or twice in a month and she wouldn’t call me  _ eight  _ times for no reason.”

Abigail lowered her head to her feet as she told him, remembering every detail of that day. She could remember how her hands immediately begun to shake when she dialed Alana’s number.

“Hi? It’s-It’s Abigail.”

“Hi, Abigail.” Alana’s tone seemed exhausted. 

“What happened?”

“I’m sorry for calling you so-”

“What happened?” Abigail rushed, feeling sick.

“Your father. Hannibal.”

She would never forget Alana’s voice and words as she told her Hannibal had been shot. That he was dead. That the funeral was going to happen around five o’clock, if she wanted to come in the first plane.

“I couldn’t move.” Abigail continued telling Will. “It felt like the air had been taken away from my chest. I don’t remember what I answered nor what I did with the phone. I just remember that I picked a coat and walked in my pajamas the seven miles to Daisy’s house in the middle of the cold winter. I was afraid to be alone. I felt so… Numb.” She made a pause, trying to control the knot forming in her throat. “I… I thought I would lose my mind again. I kinda did. Everything I had learned to leave in the past and grow away seemed to come back to me. I got depressed. In the sick, psychological way. In the following months I basically stopped doing anything I had build for my life. I would spend my days laid in bed in a constant, overwhelming fear of becoming again that old Abigail. My biological father was a serial killer that killed my mother and my best friend. He tried to kill me. I had new fathers that loved me and taught me to be who I wanted to be… And now Hannibal was dead. And I couldn’t do nothing to undo it. And I felt like I had lost you too, because I couldn’t make it to the funeral. I was angry and sad and scared and as the days passed by I only felt worse and guilty for leaving you here alone. I failed you, dad.”

“No, you didn’t.” Will replied, his eyes filling with tears. 

“I did. I failed both of you.” She made another pause. “I stopped eating and cleaning myself or doing anything… At all. Then, all of sudden, I felt better.” Abigail closed her eyes for a second. “Or I thought I was. I decided to leave it all behind and live my life to the fullest before something happened to me to. I pushed my friends away. I made new ones. I went to parties, I had fun, I drank. I would do anything to fill the emptiness inside of me. To avoid thinking about my dead parents or about you suffering here. I got drunk. I got high. I slept with all kind of unknow people. I would tell everyone who would ask with a big smile that I also would show to myself in the mirror ‘I’m fine. I’m amazing. I have friends and parties and a nice job, my agenda is so full I can’t breathe! I’m laughing, I go to the movies, I dance, guys love me, I’m a party! I feel great!’ but… It was a lie. I had no friends. I got fired from my not so good job at a bookstore. I yelled with mostly everyone, I would pick up a fight with my eighty years old neighbour over nothing, I slept with guys I didn’t know the name only to not be alone in my own apartment. And when I was alone? I would be too drunk or too high from a shitty and doubty marijuana I’d bought a few alleys behind my job and I would walk in the rooftop of my building drunk as hell hoping I would fall and die because I didn’t deserve to be in this stupid shitty world less than the people I loved and died or were alone and suffering while I was screwing a stranger. I had become everything you and he taught me  _ not _ to be. I had become what Hannibal would hate. I was  _ rude _ and mean and stupid even to myself and the more I did more I would hate me for have becoming this.”

Will felt the teardrop coming down his cheeks. She needed him all the time and he was just there… Doing nothing. “What happened? How did you…?”

“I found an old letter in the back of my wardrobe with a couple of things from here I took to New York. I found a letter from dad, one he wrote a couple of days before I moved. With a number of websites and telephones and numbers of places I should visit in New York, and with phones of good psychiatrists I could go in case of an emergency. But that wasn’t what changed my mind.”

“What was?”

“What he wrote.” She closed her eyes and quoted “‘Remember, whenever dark days comes, that no pain is worthy your happiness. No pain and nobody is most valuable than yourself, nor worthier. Friends, co workers, not even me. Fight for yourself harder than you fight for anybody else, my dear Abigail, because no one can be worthier of happiness than you.” 

Will took a deep breathe. A delicate smile formed in the corners of his mouth.

“That sounds like him.”

“It took me a time to fully understand what he meant, dad, but is true. And now I have to say to you” she stared deep into Will’s eyes “is that what you’re doing to yourself, all this effort to have a illusion of him that is destroying you… Is not worth it.”

“Is not like that.”

Abigail took a deep breathe. “Yes. It is. When you love someone… You create an image of this person.”

Will nodded. “An imago. He said that.”   
_ An imago is the image of a loved one, buried in the unconscious, carried with us all our lives. _

“Yes. The problem with this is that is just an imago. An image. An  _ ideal. _ Is not the real person and we fight against reality, shaping an image that best suits us. But it is just an ideal. Hannibal was no god and we know it. He wasn’t perfect, far from it. He was just human. With an exquisite mind and an odd, dangerous lifestyle.”

“What are you talking about?” Will asked, frowning, becoming to get angry. It felt like she was trying to tell him that Hannibal was a bad person, as if it were wrong to love him. That was an absurd.

“You know what I am talking about Will. What he did. What  _ we _ did.”

Will’s frown just become bigger. “I don’t… What are you talking about?”

“Dad, please. You more than anyone. You fought with Hannibal so many times until you understood and accepted. I don’t know if you still do things as we did when I lived here, but… He is not worth it.”

“Don’t talk about your father like he was a criminal.”

“Dad.” She wasn’t understanding Will’s refuse. Was he brainwashed or something? “We all  _ are _ , in the law sense, at least. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

It was ridiculous.

“I don’t know what are trying to say, but you’re wrong. I’m not a criminal and certainly nor was Hannibal!”

“Will!” She raised her tone.

Will stood up, too angry to talk. What happened to her? “Stop talking about Hannibal like that.”

“But is the truth!”

“Don’t confuse Hannibal for Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Abigail!” He shouted, going to the stairs. Will wouldn’t let her be so disrespectful like that. He went to his room; “Hannibal was not a murder!” he shouted, shutting the door. 

 

Abigail was confused. Will’s reactions and words didn’t made any sense. She stood there in silence, trying to understand.

When the night came, she knocked on Will’s door to ask if he wanted to have dinner but no answers came. She waited for a time, then went downstairs to the kitchen. Later, she tried to talk to Will again. He didn’t answer.

“That’s ridiculous and you know it.” She said to the door. “I’m going to sleep.”

But she didn’t. She went to Hannibal’s office, going inside by the mezzanine’s library, since the front door was closed. She went down the stairs and looked around. The furnitures were covered with sheets and full of dust. It was sad. 

Abigail seated in one of the armchairs. She had a lot to think and a lot to sort. This case was far from being solved. 

 

When Will finally left his bedroom it was morning again. He felt tired and ashamed of behaving like an idiot with Abigail, but part part of him was still angry and mostly confused about the things and the way she spoke. He went to her room - she wasn’t there. The bed was made, and for a moment he felt a gut wrenching pain in the stomach thinking he scared her enough to make her leave.

Luckily he found himself to be wrong, finding a note above the kitchen’s countertop, wrote in handwriting:

There’s breakfast in the refrigerator. I went to the library to pick some files for my test. Case study. 

I’ll be back after lunch. Really sorry for yesterday. Luv u 

  * Ab



 

Will smiled. 

She hadn’t flee away after all.

 

Abigail came back a few minutes past 3 PM, seeming worried and agitated.

“Is everything okay?” Will asked when she came in. She was carrying a backpack that seemed heavy. 

“Yeah. Just a bit agitated.” Her fingers were drumming on her pants.

“Why?” Will placed a hand in the empty place near him in the couch. “Seat here. Calm yourself.”

“I’m… Fine. I was studying an old FBI case to help to the test at the Academy and I manage to get to the answer.” She gazed him with a serious expression, as if what she was saying had more to do with him than he knew. 

“That’s good!” He smiled. “You’re very clever, Abby. You’ll do fine.”

Her smile was thoughtful and unsure. “Would you mind driving me somewhere?”

Will frowned. “Where?”

“I’ll give you the instructions in the car.”

“Is it part of your study?”

“We can say so.” She whispered more to herself.

“Ok.” Will stood up. “We have to go now?”

Abigail made a puppy face, like a small kid. “Please?” Her feet were moving fast up and down with anxiety.

He made a gesture to pick his coat and they were in the car a few minutes later. 

 

“Turn left.” Abby continued to give Will instructions. “We’re almost there.”

Will had the impression he knew that road, the houses surrounding the car in both sides seemed strangely familiar.

He didn’t recognized the place until it was too late. 

“Stop there.” Abby pointed to that known house.

“Why are we here?” Will asked, his voice trembling, his shaking hands holding the wheel too tight.

He parked and waited.

“Abigail.”

“Come with me.”

“Where?”

She pointed to the house, opening the door and leaving.

Will had no choice but to follow her.

Follow her to Bedelia Du Maurier’s front door.

“Do you know Bedelia?” Will asked, running after her. 

Abigail stopped in the steps off the stairs in front of the door.

“Yes.” She gasped for air. “And you should know it.”

She climbed the rest of the stairs and rang the bell.

“What? Abigail!” Will held her pulse. “Explain to me what’s happening.”

“Dad, I’m sorry.” Abigail started. “But this is the case I’m working on.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how this happened. But Hannibal lied to you.”

Will’s tremors were getting worse. “I don’t…”

Bedelia appeared in the door.

Abigail took a deep breathe before speaking. “Something happened to your memory, Will.”

“What do you mean?”

“He erased your memory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger or not? What are your ideas?

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to let me know what you thought about it!  
> By the way, I'm thinking about doing more videos to follow the story, after watching the first one, tell me if you think more videos with this idea would be nice. :)


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